Closer
by TangledUpLies
Summary: It will always be each other for them.


Hello! I want to first say how much I have just miss this lovely world of fanfiction and all you lovely peeps! Gah! It's been a while… again! But before I forget, to those people that reviewed and favorited _Let It Rain_, thank you! Anyway, how is everyone doing? Well and wonderful I hope because it's a new year! And if not, here's hoping this cheers you up because yay! I wrote something. The first word of this story was typed on September 17th so it has been months since the very beginning. This had been an idea that I wanted to explore for oh so long and I finally got myself to sit down and write this up. Is this possible? Probably not. However it is nice to imagine a little. I had brainstormed this for quite a while because I didn't know how or where I wanted them to end up. It was difficult especially because both characters have been through a lot and because they will over time change. So I tried keeping the characters the same as how I saw them on the show and imagined how they would have become after years. However that depends if everyone shares my point of view. I have seen only three and a half episodes of season 8. Partially because I've been busy with school and work while the other half of me just isn't as ~motivated to catch up on everything without Emily Prentiss. I do read messages boards, Tumblr and Twitter way too much, but still, I'm more than sure that facts, details and all those itty bitty things are missing or changed about this season. Also I might have adjusted some things about the past seasons as well. Thus a lot of stuff is obviously made up to fit into what I want, which no one should be shocked over, lol. And yes, this story is what most people would consider a rather long and overwhelming read. But as the author, I didn't want to split this up into two because it just didn't feel right to me. As always this has been written and looked over by only me. All those yucky mistakes I didn't catch, I apologize and hang my head in shame. I hope everyone or at least a handful of you will enjoy this little love of mine. And it'll be lovely to read any comments or whatevs on this. They will be welcomed and appreciated! So hugs, kisses and thank you! =]

* * *

_Crunch_.

Dried leaves break into uneven fragments on the cement ground.

_Crunch. Crunch. Crunch._

There is only one time during the year this sound rings through the city.

_Crunch_.

As Emily Prentiss wanders up another block underneath the evening sky, she finds herself almost deliberately finding fallen leaves in her path.

That bright luscious green of summer has disappeared. Instead under the setting sun she falls in love once again with the dark reds, the vibrant oranges, the earthy browns and the golden yellows autumn offers. Another three leaves her downcast eyes stare upon. She doesn't hesitate a moment before stepping on them lightly.

Colors and that unique crunch, two of her favorite things about her favorite time of the year, she has missed this.

The music of leaves echoes into her ears as sudden gust of wind blows. Her dark midnight tresses that have grown in and styled into soft waves over time dance back. In seconds the collar of her black coat is propped up, surrounding the cream colored cashmere scarf wrapped around her slender neck. Her hands she tucks warmly back into her pockets. The heels of her leather boots continue to click and clack delicately on the smooth sidewalks.

Nothing has changed during this time.

Everything is still as she remembers it.

The sights of pumpkin decorations for the season tug at the corners of her pink lips. That coffee shop she used venture into every morning whenever possible for her French vanilla latte with a shot of espresso and a dusting of cocoa powder before she switched to the chai tea with skim milk she passes with her heartstrings pulled at. Cool winds that currently prick her exposed ivory skin. That mix of cinnamon and apples aroma from nowhere and everywhere that seem to envelop her. Crispy fresh air that helps clears her head.

Or used to for the simplest reason her thoughts have not stopped running.

Not since she had stepped out of the taxi and paid the driver before grabbing her bag and tugging the suitcase beside her. Not since she had handed the smiling agent behind the counter her passport and the ticket she had just bought three days prior. And especially not since she had watched the sky change colors because they were six hours and more behind from where she lived.

There had been no turning back. To the place she had called her home seven years before; Emily wonders if it will be a good, a smart idea.

How they would react to seeing her in the flesh. Hugs will be too tight. She can already feel their arms around her. Kisses on the cheek will toppled over. She can already feel them cover every centimeter of her cheeks. Questions will be never ending. She can already feel her head spinning from their words. Phone calls, emails and the every now and then of video chats haven't sufficed.

So those reactions, she is sure of; can easily imagine now.

Not with _him _though.

With him, just like it has always been with him, Emily isn't sure. She can't even imagine where to begin.

It is because of him she has herself wondering, and over thinking even. It is because of him her thoughts have not stopped running despite crossing an ocean. It is because of him the autumn of this city she loves cannot clear her head.

Three years it has been.

That long since a word they have spoken to one another. That long since a word they have typed to each other. That long since she has seen his face. Replacing all the confidence and secrets they have shared with one another and no one else, silence has encompassed them.

Fear perhaps has bound her hands.

Emily doesn't have an inkling of it, of him for the mere explanation that she never asked.

How he has been, what he has been up to. She hadn't known how to ask. No one had said much except here and there. Even then she would stay mum. And in truth, a part of her hadn't even known if she wanted to know. Not knowing hurts less, she had told herself over and over again.

A car horn pierces her thoughts. In moments she lifts her head with a deep exhale released. Her breath is visible in the dark. She licks her cold lips.

The sun has set.

She pulls out her left hand and glances at the glass face on her wrist. The second hand shifts a millimeter over. Another sixty seconds have disappeared. Two hours and seven minutes remain. She turns her head to the right. When her flight had landed, a taxi she had hailed. To the hotel she had went to drop of her things. Ten minutes had yet to gone by before she had found herself in the streets, soaking up all she had missed of the city during the season before night would fall upon her.

Almost two dozens blocks she has sauntered through, Emily twist her heels around. She tugs her scarf a little high and buries the tip of her nose she thinks that might be a little pink into the velvety material. Her steps are a little quicker than it had been twenty one minutes ago as she makes her journey back to the hotel.

It will begin soon. Eight if she recalls the bubbly voice telling her.

Balloons will be tied in big bundles to the arms of the chairs. A banner will be homemade and hung above the doors. Glitter she had been informed was used. There will be wine, some of his favorites. There will be food, some of his favorites as well along with a cake that has been specially made just for him filled with rich delicious chocolate buttercream frosting.

A surprise party will be given for the years of love and dedication.

"_I will try…"_

There had been meetings to attend to, paperwork to write and people to meet. Work she had to finish. A brief second she had thought of him then; how much stress, how much work he must go through on top of everything in his life being in charge. So there weren't going to be any promises. That she had said to the two disappointing yet hopeful faces in her computer screen.

Truthfully, a part of her hadn't wanted to either. For selfish reasons, Emily couldn't; will not deny deep down. Yet three nights ago, she had been unable to sleep. And when it had been seven minutes before three in the morning, she found herself purchasing the plane ticket that brought her here.

In the city she used to call home, in preparation to see their faces, his face in the flesh, fifteen minutes it takes before she sets her eyes on the tall brightly lit building she is staying in.

Emily smiles and nods faintly at the bellhop who greets her by the entrance of the double doors. Her footsteps against the shiny and polished tangerine colored marble floors are muffled by the chattering of the many guests and staff and the thuds of suitcases that occupy the lobby. The sounds of violins from the drinking lounge at her far right she hears in the distance. She makes her way towards the elevators at the end of the hall and presses the upwards arrow. In moments she finds herself grateful to be alone in the metal box. The circle with the seven she jabs with her index finger. She runs a hand through her wind blown hair. She sighs, suddenly feeling the warmth her body has been missing. Her sight set to the numbers above the doors, watching every ascending floor before a sharp chime fills the space when it reaches her destination.

Stillness and her thoughts continue to surround her once she walks on the crimson hued carpet beneath the yellow fluorescent bulbs. And after two turns to the right and a turn to the left, she stands in front of her door. The key card in her back pocket is pulled out and slides into place for the click to be heard. With a gentle push to the lever, the three word sign for her privacy she had hung on the handle swings.

The barrier to the outside world closed, the light switch is flipped up. A glow fills the room. The key card is tucked into her bag that she had thrown onto her bed when she first walked in. Round buttons on her coat are pushed out. A few shrugs and a tug, she throws the item over the armchair by the large window overlooking the city. The famous monuments have been lit up. The flags waves in the night. Those times when she hadn't been able to sleep, she would sit up into the early mornings. This had been the view she would stare out at while wondering about too much and worrying about everything.

This moment now is no exception.

Still she is wondering too much and worrying about everything.

With a slight shake of her head, Emily makes her way to the perfectly made bed. She sits at the edge of the soft covered mattress. Her boots she unzips before sliding her feet out. Socks are wriggled off. Her bare feet make contact into the teal colored carpet as she moves to the bathroom. The small light on the ceiling shines intensely with a turn of the round control and face to face she comes to her reflection.

The tip of her nose, the edges of her ears once she tucks a few thick strands of hair back are lightly pink. Her cheeks have turned rosy as well against her ivory skin. She turns around and in six steps she reaches the bathtub. The water is turned on, steam slowly filling the space as the warm articles of clothing and everything underneath she peels of her body. The hair tie around her wrist is pulled at and her dark tresses soon sit in a messy bun near the top of her head.

Hot beads of water seep into her pores mere seconds later. Emily closes her eyes briefly; feeling small knots in her body loosen just a little. But staying under the steaming water, enjoying it, she cannot do. She doesn't have the time. So she lathers herself up the hotel soap that smells of apple and a hint of cinnamon with a tiny grin ghosting her face and in a few short minutes, she kneels on carpet with the soft material of the fluffy white robe that wraps around her gathered under her knees.

The click of the silver lock is heard. The black zipper is found and tugged around. An easy lift of the top cover reveals all she has packed. Yet despite the necessities and a few miscellaneous items she had learned from those years as a profiler and travelling, her sights are drawn towards the two articles of clothing that lay beside each other.

Black colored shoes with the signature blood red soles she loves a little too much.

On a Saturday afternoon four years ago in this very city, it was a wild and expensive splurge. A girls' day of brunch and shopping that turned to a girls' night of daiquiris at her apartment with two women she will be seeing soon. They had pushed her towards the cashier, nearly snatching the credit card from her grasp. They were perfect on her. She just had to buy them. Her doubts, her eye rolls were brushed off. They couldn't understand the two letter word concept of 'no.'

Her lips twist sadly up at the memory.

Virtual tea every now and then when all three of them find the time isn't good enough.

Emily sets them to the ground before focusing on the second item she considers a treasure as well. A faint sigh escapes her lips. She reaches for the gold zipper on the garment bag and swiftly pulls it down. With care she grasps the hook of the hanger and stands. She holds the piece out, her eyes scanning it.

Five months ago, on a Sunday and a rare day off, at the world famous department store of London, the pale shade of rose quartz had caught her eyes. She had never been one to fawn over an article of clothing. She had never been that type of a girl. But the delicate color, the softness under her fingertips, the cut and the design, Emily had instantly been mesmerized by the dress.

So she had bought it.

There had yet to be any occasion to wear something like this though. In the back of her closet it had hung in the white garment bag. But when she had packed two nights ago, folding sweaters and rolling up jeans, she had dug through the coats and her half a dozen of little black dresses. She had needed something nice to wear. An occasion had come. She had placed it into the suitcase after everything else was in.

And nearly fifty minutes later, Emily stands in front of the large dresser mirror.

The sleeveless and the ruched design remind her of the dress she wore to the surprise wedding three years ago. She runs her hands down the silky fabric that hugs her. The hue compliments her complexion and highlights the shade of coral tinting her lips and powered on her cheeks. Her fingertips dance along the edges of the neckline that doesn't run too low. The reminder she can't ever get rid of has been painted over and over with foundation. Only a too close of a look and a touch will anyone discover how she has been marked. A thin straight line of black ink has been applied across the edges of her eyelids. Those thick lashes of her are curled and fans out evenly. Her hair she has let back down cascades down inches pass her exposed shoulders in waves.

A sharp intake of the air surrounding her, she unsteadily exhales.

Emily turns then and slips her black stocking clad feet into those shoes that have been molded in after so many wears here and there. She puts on once again her black coat. Buttons are soon in place. Her bag she reaches for. With a glance around the room, she walks out with the bedside lamp left on. The same journey she takes as before. To the elevator, to the lobby, passing by guests and staff, in mere minutes she stands outside in the November air. She sees her breath in the night as she raises her arm. Three cabs drive by until one finally stops. A simple greeting to the driver she gives once she is settled in the heated vehicle. Her destination she tells the man, who doesn't fail to slightly raise an eyebrow.

Nevertheless though, he drives and she sits back.

It is about forty miles from here to there. Her watch she has left in her room, her phone she takes out to glance at the time. Precisely in forty one minutes it will be set to begin. She leans her head back and quietly inhales. Her eyes turn to the passing world beside the highway. This scenery she used to drive by to get to where she is currently going she watches once more.

She doesn't know who she will see first. Her palms are moist. She doesn't know what she'll say first. From the heat, from her nerves, she wipes them on her coat.

An hour and twenty two minutes disappears and her gaze never leaves outside before that familiar building comes to her view. The tall flags Emily doesn't fail to see waving high as she gets closer and closer to them. Her heart thumps a bit faster.

"Excuse me, but do you know where I can stop?"

The sudden question breaks her from her thoughts. An unfamiliar destination with too many signs that prohibits entrances, she realizes how strange the journey must be for him. She nods and clears her throat.

"Um, yeah… just go a little farther down until the end of the block and then make a left …" she says.

She will walk the short distance to the doors.

He follows her directions. And after the left turn he makes, the cab comes to a stop. The heavy fare he informs her of. Emily hands him the notes with a small smile while thanking him. A quick look to make certain she has not dropped anything; she opens the door and steps out. In moments the cab turns and departs down the road.

A heavy breath she takes and lets out. Just a mere sixty seconds and it has become visible again. She turns and begins the brief journey about a block long. Each step she takes she counts. Each step she counts, the thumps of her heart increase. And at the final footstep, face to face the glass doors she used to walk through daily. She stares at the seal of the FBI etched into the glass. So hard she had worked once ago to be here.

So badly she had wanted to belong here. So badly she had wanted to belong with them.

Her gaze turns hazy. She blinks a handful of times. There remains a chance. She can leave. No one has seen her to her knowledge. But the cold metal handle she takes hold of almost instinctively and with a push and two tiny shifts of her feet, she is in the lobby motionless.

Nothing has changed.

It's quiet for this time on a Saturday near nine in the night. A few people saunter through the lobby beyond the security check points and the metal detectors. Small and careful footsteps Emily takes towards the guard. Without hesitation and questions, she passes her bag to be checked. She steps through and under the metal bars.

No longer can she simply swipe her card and enter.

She is just another visitor here now.

"What is your business being here tonight, ma'am?"

He sounds tired and annoyed while returning her bag.

Still Emily manages a tiny grin at him. Her hand reaches into her bag, tugging out her identification. His eyes scan her and the card she gives him. "I'm here to see-"

"Agent Prentiss!"

Her former title echoes suddenly. Her heart stops. Her head lifts. Her eyes scan the vast space to find a very familiar face. And without pause, a laugh leaves her mouth.

"Anderson!"

There is no leaving anymore even if she wants to. She has been spotted. He jogs to her. "I can't believe it…." She is still laughing with her comment as their arms surround one another.

His mouth gently brushes against her right cheek. That's one, she notes. "I didn't hear anyone say you were coming," he tells her as limbs are dropped.

Emily shakes her head. The laugh that was heard moments ago is replaced by a nervous titter "I actually… I actually didn't tell anyone I was coming. It was a last minute thing…"

He nods in return. A shy smile graces his handsome features. "Well, it's great to see you…" And before she says anything else, he turns to the security guard who has his blue eyes narrowing at them. His badge he flashes quickly. "She's good, sir," Anderson states to the man in the chair.

Regardless though, a visitor's pass Emily clips onto her black coat as they walk into the elevators.

"How are you? How's everything? How's London?" That shy smile remains with his questions.

The elevator doors shut. Before she knows it, like a habit, her index finger taps the round button with the number six. "Good… everything has been really wonderful. London has been beautiful."

The metal box starts to ascend. She holds tight to the straps of her bag.

"And you? How has been the BAU been treating you?" She raises an eyebrow at him.

His face brightens. "Great… I've been studying to take the test…"

Instantly she knows what he means; the test to become a profiler.

Her eyes widen and a large grin breaks out. "That is great, Anderson," she exclaims. "You will _ace_ that thing. I guarantee it." She means it.

They come to a halt. He bows his head humbly with a chuckle echoing around them. "Thanks for the confidence..."

Soon enough the doors open.

Her head lifts.

The sixth floor finally comes into sight. Laughter and chatter loudly mix together she immediately hears. Balloons, yellow and blue and an abundance of people pass the set of glass doors can be easily seen. Emily spots the tall elegant flutes. She smells food in the air. The half a dozen people the saunter by take no notice of them standing in the elevator.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Anderson holds his hand out. Her heart beats faster. He is eyeing her. The grip she has on the straps of her bag firms. Seconds are passing until her feet unconsciously move out. He follows beside her.

"Don't be nervous… they'll be glad to see you…"

Her head twists around. Again, she is met by another one of his smiles. For a tiny moment then, Emily feels a faint curve of her lips forming.

"Yeah… I hope so…" she replies softly.

Together, her eyes straight ahead; they walk. He holds the glass door open for her entrance.

She is transported back then. To the very first day she had walked onto the sixth floor of this building. Anderson had been the one who opened the glass door for her when she had struggled with the box in her hands. He had been the one to direct her to the office she had gone to, hoping for a place to put down her things.

At the doorway Emily stands. Talking, laughing, nibbling and drinking, everyone is in their own world. For a moment she is too. But it is for another reason. Her sight sets on the large navy blue banner hanging. Her pupils shift from left to right, reading the big printed yellow words outlined with gold glitter.

'_Thank you, David Rossi.'_

After eight years, today is his last day. It was time. That had been what he told her two months ago over one of their phone calls. Updates on each of their lives, tips on how to perfect his pasta recipe he sent her every now and then, and advice and sayings he still gave her, at least once a month she heard his voice.

Guilt sinks in within seconds.

She should be here. Regardless of her selfish reasons, she should be here for him.

Gaze dropped, it begins to roam the room. Faces she recognizes. Her heart starts to pound a little faster. Faces she doesn't. She thinks everyone will eventually hear the thumps of the organ in her chest. Ultimately though, her onyx eyes land on the small group huddling around her old desk.

Rossi speaks as his hands move animatedly and points at Reid. He lifts his hands up like he's surrendering with a grin. Morgan throws his head back. Garcia is in a fit of giggles. JJ stands beside a woman with dark locks in a ponytail watching them with smirks. She stands still unnoticed still with Anderson by her side, watching her, waiting for her to move, she sees one person missing.

Maybe he is at home. It is the weekend. Or maybe he is in his office. Doing his best to avoid the noise to finish whatever last reports he must read over and sign. Or maybe he is just somewhere around here she can't see.

A low breath out Emily releases in moments. Then the first movements she makes towards them. Anderson stays behind. Almost instantly, a few heads are turned her way. Yet their curious and surprise gape on her she ignores. And when she is a mere two feet away from them, the man who had been moving his hands animatedly seconds ago catches her eyes. He does a double take. The crooked curve of his mouth surrounded by little grey hairs freezes for the briefest moment before it slowly expands.

"_Well_, I think my surprise just got even _bigger_…"

His comment has everyone following where his line of sight is directed towards. And when five pair of eyes twists her way, the nervous chuckle unconsciously slips from her lips is nothing compared to the shriek and scream from Garcia and JJ. They run to her. Their arms surround her tightly in a blink of an eye. In her heels and their weight against her, Emily stumbles backward, nearly falling over.

The nervousness, the fear she had been feeling before dissipates.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"Why didn't you call?"

"When did you get here?"

"I can't believe this!"

The questions and the statement are loud and happy. Emily doesn't doubt that they have gained a small audience. Yet she doesn't care because it's simply really good to see them. It takes half a minute until their grips loosen. In a circle they remain. The last time they had stood like this had been three years ago at the wedding.

Even now it is fresh in her memories. She had made up her mind. Thinking what could have happened if she clipped the wrong wire. And despite being back with the people she loved more than anything, a part of her had felt missing. That feeling of not belonging she had felt whenever she lived here and there, she had begun to feel in this city. Something had felt uncomfortable. They had felt uncomfortable. Regardless of the conversations, the nights out, how they would almost fall back into place on the field like a team once more, she had sensed it. Eggshells had been thrown around her. And they had tiptoed. Hiding from what had truly happened. Pretending that her past never really did come back to haunt her and eventually them too.

Not him though.

Never was it with him.

"Let me look at you!" The exclamation from Garcia takes her out of her thoughts. Barely a step back she takes. Her eyes descend upon her. "London has been _really_ good to you!" Her hand plays with the ends of her wavy hair.

There is a nudge at her feet. "And look what she has on," JJ teases as her eyebrows rise.

It takes no time for her to roll her eyes. "Yes… these are the same pair." Emily feigns exasperation in her tone.

JJ tugs her back with a loud sigh. "It's really good to see you."

"Your face in pixels just isn't as good as the real thing." Garcia frowns momentarily before moving forward as well.

Longer than before they are in their embrace; she has missed them too much. A throat is suddenly cleared. All three simultaneously pull away. She finds the beam on Morgan's face big and bright.

"And how has my favorite princess been doing?"

The simple inquiry has him in front of her within moments. Arms around her and a kiss to her cheek, she chuckles into his shoulder at the nickname he had given her once upon a time ago. Reid's next without hesitation as his boyish smile graces his face and a wave he offers like always.

"How's everything?"

But before Emily knows it, he's hugging her too.

"I'm good." She feels the tears begin to well behind closed eyelids. "And you? How's my favorite doctor doing these days?" she inquires while slowly pulling back.

His response he doesn't get to give because from behind, she hears Rossi's voice.

"Is it my turn yet?"

It takes no time for Reid to move to the side.

She walks the two steps as Rossi slides off the edge of her old desk. He kisses both her cheeks. "I was hoping you'll show up to this little shindig." His arms wrap tightly around her. "I won't ask how you're doing seeing as to everyone has and will be asking you when you will talk to them, so I'll just skip it all and say…" He pulls away and holds onto her hands. His affectionate crooked smile appears once more.

"_It's good to see you, Emily Prentiss..._"

Water Emily knows is clinging to the edges of her lashes. She squeezes Rossi's hands. "I couldn't miss this for the world…" She sniffles once and blinks twice. She lets out a pathetic and embarrassed laugh for her reaction. Her attention turns to the left. Rossi's hand she releases as her right hand extends forward. The corners of her mouth lifts.

"Agent Blake?"

The other woman takes her hand with a faint affirmative nod. "Yes, that would be me."

"It's really nice to meet you. I've heard nothing but great things about you from them…"

Her head motions to JJ and Garcia footsteps away.

"Likewise," she says with a smile returned her way.

In a matter of seconds the people she used to work with, see in the bullpen daily come up to her. Garcia takes her bag as the sea of hugs, kisses and questions she swims through. Apologetic looks she gives Rossi because this night wasn't meant to be about her return, but his work with this team, this unit. Yet a grin he throws right back at her because seeing her in the bullpen and having her here as one of the chapters in his life ends is simply good. So Emily takes in everything a little shyly and almost awkwardly for twenty one straight minutes all the while wondering in the corner of her brain that one person has yet to appear.

Once those hugs, the kisses and the questions subsided and Blake had walked away with a warm smile wanting to give them their space and their memories, she's back with just them_. _

_Her family._

And as the story of the prank war that had occurred between Morgan and Reid is relived and laughed about, JJ tugs at the sleeve of her coat. "Why haven't you taken this off yet?"

Her gaze turns. "Oh…" She hasn't realized.

"Just put your coat in Rossi's office. I already put your bag in there," Garcia informs her.

Despite the time, the effort perhaps she had take tonight, Emily thinks she will stick out even more than before. "It's fine…"

But JJ nudges her with a wide playful beam on her face. "I have to see you have on with those shoes." The drink in her hand is taken away by Garcia.

"Yes, let us see Emily." Morgan mocks with a wink.

Another gentle push from JJ, her fingers rise to the three buttons to pull out. And surely then Emily slides the coat off her bare shoulders.

Garcia gasps with excitement. JJ hurriedly takes the coat from her grasp. That wide beam on her face expands even more. "That's it! I'm moving to London tomorrow!" The comment draws immediate laughter. "What has that city done to you? You look gorgeous, Emily!" she exclaims.

Morgan surprises her and takes her hand. He playfully twirls her around once and twice as giggles slip from her lips. Once Emily halts, almost leaning completely into the man she partnered with for so many years, she catches Rossi in the corner of her eyes. Her head turns a few degrees from the easy laughter that flows continuously. Not on the group his eyes reside on. Instead they stare ahead. And when her curiosity gets the best of her, wondering what could be grabbing his attention, she follows suit. The laughter that escapes from her slowly dies. She turns breathless. The corners of her lips lower just the slightest. Her heart pounds like a drum under her bones.

Nearly a dozen steps away, Aaron Hotchner stands.

Watching her, _solely_ her, his brain and his eyes are playing a trick on him. He is sure of it. Three years it has been since he has last seen her, had a real conversation with her. The morning after the wedding he had found her in his office. Just like that late night after St. Louis when he gave her a chance without promises; on the couch Emily had sat. She hadn't been able to sleep. So she had arrived two hours before their eight o' clock date.

At his doorway he had froze once his eyes had landed on her. She had been staring at an empty mug with a teabag and a full mug with black liquid in front of her. A sad smile she had offered when she had lifted her head. Her dark eyes had been glazed over. And in a whispered chuckle she had told him simply.

"_I think… I think I'm going to London."_

Her resignation she handed in before she made her way into his office to wait for him she had murmured. Hotch had learned about the job offer from Clyde Easter across the Atlantic Ocean then. His hands at his side had clenched slightly into fist. A small list of reason she had given him soon after. Something had felt missing. She had still felt missing even if alive she was. As if a part of her had still been hiding and wandering in the streets of Paris. The place where she had belonged to had become foreign to her.

She had felt out of place.

"_It… I just don't feel… right about being here… not now…"_

With her admittance had come a tear sliding down her cheek. Her head she had lowered. It had been wiped away quickly. Hotch had seen it though. Yet a comment he did not make because he had known her. She had been trying to stay whole, to compartmentalize. She had continued nevertheless. The jump at joining the team again after the hearing, Emily had hoped; thought it would be the answer to fixing the months she had disappeared. It would have made everything in her life normal and stable again even if the job was everything but normal and stable. It would have given her the family she had done everything she could to protect back.

Their forgiveness she wanted. Her family she needed.

It had been good at first. She had found herself back on the field and working in sync with the team. The relationships she presumed lost forever had begun building again. There were hugs and laughs among them once more. Then everything had seemed to slowly backfire. The more she buried in the job, the more chaotic and dark she had discovered her world to be. She had felt overwhelmed and empty all at once. And Emily had tried to shake it off, wishing that it was her imagination, but everyone was acting differently around her, about her. Even if she had wanted nothing more to forget her past, she couldn't. Yet they had seemed too.

"_Except for you…"_

The three words had been barely audible even in the quiet that had overtaken them. But clear like the morning sky it had been to his eardrums. His breath had been caught momentarily in his throat. His heart had dropped several of stories to the ground. Her hand Hotch had wanted to take. To comfort her or to simply hold on to her, her words had him thinking again about losing her once more. One of his fears since the afternoon in Colorado, it had been heightened when she had ran to protect them all.

And it never had subsided.

Not when he had first seen her step off the small private plane from Paris. Not when he had sat beside her in the courtroom. Not when he had found them again shoulder to shoulder finding the monsters of the world just like they always did.

In the back of his head, in the depths of his heart he had been worried and wondering always if she would be gone from him.

So Hotch had wanted her to stay. He had _needed_ her to stay.

But wordless he had kept about it. Selfish it would have been to make that sort of request. He had been in no position to do so. She couldn't stay for them, for him. She had to stay for herself. Nothing about his request, his plead would have been about the job.

Stay in his sight. Stay in his life.

"Do you trust him?"

His question had been leveled. He let none of the emotions in him shine through the four words.

Slowly but surely Hotch had watched her nod. His name he didn't mention and Emily had known Clyde Easter he had meant. "Yeah… I do…"

It would have been impossible to he had been more than certain. Those night he had kept secret still locked and hidden away in the back of his mind and corner of his heart would had come crawling back out. He would feel it all over again when he hadn't supposed to in the first place. It had been wrong. It had been inappropriate. That he had told himself numerous times. And he had thought about the woman who had entered his life a few months before, the woman who he had been trying to move on with.

That had been it.

His heart, his words had been tied.

Not once had Hotch heard her voice every time he picked up his phone. So he had settled for overhearing every now and then because he never asked, never called either.

Emily was good. She was busy with work. She sent over more gifts, more tea.

Those late nights into the early mornings when he didn't have his son, when he didn't want to go back to his quiet apartment and be reminded that he was a little lonely and very alone, Hotch had done what he had begun doing years prior. He had buried himself in his work. The one thing he always found on his side no matter what had happen to him. It became his companion once more. And besides the reports he had to read through, the papers he had to sign and the smiling picture of Jack in his soccer uniform would be his navy blue mug. But not filled with the bitter black liquid he enjoyed without cream or sugar. Instead filled to almost the brim of the round edge, would be the brown liquid made from the leaves she sent once a month. The woodsy aroma would filter up his nostrils and fill his office.

And Hotch would think of her.

If she would be awake yet because he remembered the time difference. If she was drinking the same tea because he remembered what she told him.

It had been a week after she had returned to them, a week after what had happened in the conference room. Everything had been as if nothing had happened. Like so many days in their past, side by side they had found themselves in the break room. The pot of steaming and freshly brewed coffee he had picked up. Like a habit he had been about to pour it into her mug because he knew how much she enjoyed the black liquid with too much Splenda. But her head Emily had shook with a faint smile. So into his own mug he poured the liquid into. Then he had watched without a word as she had taken out a tea bag from the cabinet, as she had filled her mug with hot water almost to the top before stirring in a spoonful of honey. She had turned, chuckling softly because she had caught him staring. And he had asked then, if she was okay because the only times he had seen her drink tea were the times she hadn't been feeling well. That faint smile still on her face, Emily had nodded.

"Yeah, I'm good… everything's good…" she replied softly before turning her heels.

But it had been that case in Houston few months afterwards.

The deal she made him she had uphold. A small fraction of him had been surprised because she was headstrong in everything she did, everything that came her way. And it would have been jeopardizing the compartmentalizing she had perfected so well. But then he wasn't really because he had known how she had felt. Regardless if she smiled, if she thought herself strong enough, if she told herself everything in her past would remain there, she would break. The hard and tough exterior she had built around her would crumble down.

His had. Hers would too.

And once Hotch had taken in the sight of her fearful face, the quiver of her failed smile and her trembling eyes, his heart had dropped.

"_I'm having a bad day…"_

Those words had only confirmed what he had known.

Talking she hadn't wanted to do. Time off she hadn't wanted.

"_I want the old me back."_

That had been what Emily had wanted. That had been what he had wanted of himself after Foyet. Different he had become too. He had lost a little of his faith. He had lost his security. His trust had been seemingly harder to gain.

Not with her though. He had trusted her with everything of him.

"Well, she's gone." His words had been tender. His voice had been steady. "But you're still here."

Scars and nightmares would forever linger but alive she was. And Hotch had wondered if she realized just how much that had said about her, how much that had meant to him and everyone else around her.

She hadn't been able to form any response for him.

Thousands of miles above land later though when everyone else had closed their eyes for the two hours before they would be home; the stillness that had taken over them because Emily had yet to say anything had been shattered with her frail and quiet voice.

"I don't drink coffee anymore…"

Those were the first words she said to him after the long period of silence. Hotch had been confused. Her head had turned to him.

"In Paris… I was so jittery…" Emily had inhaled deeply. "Jumping if someone tapped me on the shoulder… panicking when someone spoke to me... thinking someone was watching me every time I wanted just a few minutes of fresh air…" The tip of her tongue had wet her lips. "I had been barely sleeping… even with a lock and two chains on the door… I was afraid of my own shadow sometimes…" He had recalled what she had told him months back. Late night Scrabble games with JJ that had helped her get by in the city she hid away in. "I was _so_ paranoid…" She had bitten the corner of her red mouth. "I thought I was going crazy…"

The water had clung to the corners of her eyes. Too many cups of coffee she had consumed during the days and nights. And without the sugar she loved and the cream she took every so often, everything about the beverage had been heightened.

"The coffee… it just seemed to make everything worse…" Her attempt to hold in her sniffle had failed. "So I started drinking tea…" Emily had let out a quiet pathetic chuckle. "Hoping it would help … I read that it did… that it would calm me even if a little… and it did…" Her tone had lowered and trembled. "And it still does…" Her gaze had shifted, staring at the open sky. "I know he's dead… but… but sometimes I see him… and think that he might still come out of nowhere…"

For her. For them.

Silent she had fallen. And when Emily had returned her gaze towards him a minute after, Hotch had swallowed hard and watched the tears build faster. She had blinked rapidly. She had breathed in the thickening air surrounding her before releasing it slowly.

"_And I don't know what to do…"_

If she had any bad days in the city of London, if she needed him to talk to, if the deal they had made on the plane she still remembered, if she was simply _okay_; all of that too he had mulled over the tea.

Hotch had wondered if he would ever know.

And seeing her then and there, those thoughts he had been curious about, pondered too long over are forgotten. His mind is drawing a blank just like his face because watching him like he is watching her, Emily finds his face to be almost impassive.

One thing that is known of him, one he made apparent from the start was that he wasn't a man who wore emotions for the world to see. Not on his sleeve, not on his face. It would be a game sometimes trying to decipher the thoughts in his head and feelings in his heart. But what Emily had discovered over the years with gaining his trust in the light and in the dark was that regardless of the stoic mask, his eyes betray him every now and then. However though, this fails to be one of the every now and then.

If he is surprised to see her, Emily sees none of it. Nothing in his face or nothing in his eyes, what she doesn't see, what she doesn't know is that more than surprised Hotch is to see her.

A part of him feels almost… relief.

Three years have come and gone.

His hard gaze soaks up every detail of her with his breath stuck in his throat while her unbreakable gape traces every visible part of him with her heart pounding.

The terse line his thin lips form she remembers just like always. She looks tinier regardless of the shoes adorning her feet. His jaw is tight and tense. The rosy color painted on her pale cheekbones makes her resemble a doll. His shoulders are squared and even underneath the black suit he wears. Her hair is different; longer than he recalls. The lines at the corner of his eyes are faint without the rare smile. Her dark thick lashes curled and fanned make the onyx eyes he remembers too well larger.

Everything between them has changed. Nothing about them has changed.

Beautiful she looks.

Strong he remains.

She doesn't feel her hand being gently released from Morgan's. His feet move. When Hotch stands just a foot before her, the terse line of his thin lips softens just a touch. However the hard gaze fixed on her remains along with his expressionless face. With another minute of silence between them as the party around them continues, five more pair of eyes she feels, knows are sinking into them. They are watching and waiting for the slightest of motions and emotions.

"Emily…"

He says her name. It rings like sirens. The first thing, first word spoken between them in one thousand and ninety fives days, it is her name that escapes. The burden that had found a home on his shoulders disappears just a little after so long and so many days. Low, intense, gentle, smooth and rough all wrapped into one, Emily has wonder how he can do that with three syllables of her name.

Nothing has changed.

In those shoes with the very high heels, she finds herself at almost eye level with him. Her head she nods gently.

"Hey."

Then suddenly Emily sees the corners of his mouth pulled at. She registers the barely noticeable bob of his head. His intense gaze continues burning through her.

She counts the time vanishing away in the night. One, five, ten, sixteen seconds pass.

"How are you?"

Her heart is racing faster.

"I'm good. And you?"

His world is stopping.

"I'm good..."

And as fast as the words and brief sentences are spoken, they find the hush falling between them once again. Hands aren't shaken. Their connected eyes have yet to break. Arms remain at their sides. The ease they had found themselves in after the years of working together, of getting to know one another, of discovering each other's deepest secrets, Hotch questions as Emily thinks if it has been lost to them.

He doesn't know what else to say. She doesn't know what else to do.

The thoughts after New York and Colorado, the nights because after Foyet, the confessions of fears and the simple want and need of one another and every little thing that had happened between them once upon a time ago, every moment they had in secret comes flooding through his head while every word they had shared in confidence she hears over and over again in hers.

"I didn't know if we would all ever be _together_ in this bullpen again…"

The sudden comment has her attention tore away from his as his remain steady upon her. She feels the slight heat rising in her cheeks and looks down at her feet for a moment. Fixated eyes Emily still feels on the two of them. The man of the hour takes the few steps forward and is beside her. Her head rises. She smiles faintly and nervously. Rossi takes a quick sip from the flute he holds.

"And this… I think this beats _everything_ in the entire world right now… _us… this_ _family_ together again…" he finishes with a pleased beam appearing.

It isn't long then until he moves from them and saunters through the crowd and up the stairs. Garcia returns her drink. The corners of her mouth faintly lift once more in gratitude. His face Emily catches once more. Yet words remain unspoken. Slowly she turns around, looking up at Rossi standing against the railing of the cat walk. In seconds he pulls a pen from his inside jacket pocket and the clinking of the metal to the glass flute has everyone's attention towards him. The laughter and conversations quiet and his words are the only ones heard.

"Good evening." He clears his throat. "I hope everyone is having a great time tonight. I just want to say a few words before the night ends and I didn't think there was a better time than right about now…" His eyes scan the people before him. "Being able to celebrate the end of this chapter in my life, um, I don't know what to say except that I'm… _I'm truly grateful_…" With her focus on Rossi, Emily senses him still footsteps behind her. "When I first came back after my retirement… unfinished business had been on my mine. All I cared about was solving those cases and helping those people that I didn't get to before. I wasn't looking for friends. I didn't care about anything… or anyone…" Rossi sighs contently. "But then… but then I saw 'the light'…" The finger quotations draw the chuckles from the crowd. "And 'the light' was my team… _my family. _I never imagined myself getting close to any of them. I just wanted to do the job. We were just supposed to be teammates. But I slowly got to know them… their habits, their quirks, and just _them_, I found out that these people I didn't care of developing anything more than a working relationship with… I found them all _irreplaceable_…" The faintest crack in his last word is heard. "No matter who is here… no matter who has left… no matter who has returned… past and present…" Instantly Rossi's eyes find hers. "_They were and… they are my family…_" The slightest blur of her pupils form. From the corner of her eyes, she sees Garcia wiping her own beneath her purple frames. "And to everyone else… I had the pleasure of working with you all…" His glass he raises. Everyone follows. "So to my friends and to_ my family_… _thank you._" The last two words are almost choked out.

Applause filters in the bullpen. The sound of glass clink together. Emily tips her flute towards Rossi above. Her left she turns, sounding her flute with Garcia's. Before she catches herself, her right she twists to.

And Hotch she finds.

She gasps and nearly jumps. Stealth he has always been in so many ways. His flute he leans a few degrees forward to her. Her breath hitches in her throat. She is faced with the tender curve of his mouth that accompanies the little more apparent lines at the corner of his eyes. His gaze on her remains however the same; intense, hard and piercing through her. He waits for her movement. She feels the quick ups and downs of her chest and thinks he might see it too. Just about a minute vanishes until Emily tilts her glass. A small smile she manages to give. Edges touch and the delicate sound vibrates between them.

"Cheers…"

His word is deep yet soft. A short bob of her head she offers. Gazes lingering on one another a dozen seconds more, flutes are pulled back. Sweet and short sips of champagne are taken.

Before Emily knows it then, Morgan has an arm around her shoulders. The rest of them waste no moment in joining the two of them. Soon enough they talk. More moments are relived. They laugh. More stories are retold. They joke. They pick up as if she hasn't spent three years truly away from them and not a part of their team. However though, despite the closeness, the distance remains between just him and her.

Yet glances Emily can't help take of him when he has something to say and gazes Hotch can't help linger on her when she laughs.

When JJ brings out the large cake layered with a lot of chocolate buttercream frosting with the fondant badge and gun decorating the top, Rossi chuckles and wipes a tear while Garcia tugs out her camera. Flashes are here and there. Cream is swiped on cheeks. Beams are broad and bright. And once the night slowly dwindles down and people have said their goodbyes and hugs are shared and they leave until Monday morning, Rossi requests a photo. No one can refuse. One of his team, of his family; it is the eight of them because Blake joins them again. The camera is handed to Anderson. Everything, everyone moves too quickly. A line is formed and she is stuck. They are all close and touching. But it isn't Rossi's arm over her shoulder that causes the chill ascending up her spine.

It is the touch settled on the small of her back that does it. Emily can remember it regardless of years that have drifted away. The faint scents of aftershave and the distinctive combination of something spicy and woodsy confirms the hand on her. Hotch is so close she almost finds herself leaning against him. She feels the fabric of the suit jacket against her bare arm. She wants to scream. She wants to melt. But a smile she provides like everything is normal and okay when the flicker of white light goes off in front of them because compartmentalizing she knows how to perfect.

Still though, it doesn't stop her thoughts from running. It doesn't stop her brain from remembering. What happened once upon a time with them; the most miniscule details trickle out. And they don't stop even when the line of clocks on the wall informs her that morning is arriving in London and Paris while midnight is arriving for her instead in twenty minutes.

Everyone is gone except for the seven of them. Surrounded by the little mess they have made and the janitor who entered minutes ago, they gather by the cluster of desks. It's a little quiet and a lot sad Emily thinks to herself. Three years ago, after they had returned from Portland, standing in the bullpen she had told them of her resignation. London would become her new home. She thought a new and fresh start would be good for her. It would be a great opportunity for her. That had been what she said. She hadn't said anything about what she had confessed in his office. Tears were wiped away and they hugged, squeezed her too tight because a little over a year it had been since they thought she was gone forever. Losing her, they had felt and thought it all over again.

And now it isn't any different. Goodbyes will be said in any moment. They will be left wondering when they will see her next. Yet one after another, they wait to ask the unavoidable question that has been dangling in the air between them.

"When are you leaving?"

Her inevitable departure is inquired nearly three hours later. To her surprise, it is Hotch's voice that bears the question. It comes out in a murmur and echoes from the silence encompassing them. His gape on her the mere three feet away she senses. Thick strands of her wavy hair she tucks behind her ear before she turns to face him. His jaw set tight once more. Their eyes fixed on one another. A slight crack of her heart she feels. She doesn't and perhaps can't look at him even if he wants her desperately to because Emily almost instantly bows her head.

"Tomorrow… at noon…" she whispers.

So the top of her head he stares at when she tells him. There's an immediate protest that makes her look at them all. "That's too early! You can't stay an extra few days? You literally just got here!" Garcia nearly pleads and gives her a frown.

She shakes her head. A sad and regretful chuckle slips out from her. The water has begun to form at the edges of her eyes. "I wish I could… but I can't…"

"Maybe stay until Thanksgiving… I don't know…" JJ shrugs. "It is next week and you're the boss. When was the last time you've had turkey, huh?" She tells her through a hopeful teary grin. "And we're going all out because Rossi here is providing everything. Football, turkey and _wine…"_

The emphasis of one of her favorite things in the world has her angling her head and playfully rolling her pupils. "I have an office of people awaiting my return and my orders…" Emily tries her best to laugh a little, hoping it eases the ache inside.

Rossi moves forward to her in moments. His arms wrapped around her and the sniffles unexpectedly come out.

"Don't be a stranger here, okay?" he says into her ear. There is a smile behind his words she is sure of. He wants to make her feel a better, to perhaps ease the guilt he believes is sinking into her because it really is and it hurts. "But if you change your mind and book a red eye… there will be a plate and a glass with your name on it."

A response Emily doesn't give because a lump has suddenly formed in her throat. So Rossi settles for the brief nod against his head and squeezes her for a second longer.

Once he pulls back, Morgan makes his way to her. He sighs unhappily and loudly. She cocks her head while rolling her watery eyes again. One of his bear hugs she gets from him and she doesn't hesitate to return. "I miss you everyday, you hear me? The field and this place isn't the same without you…" And a kiss he bestows on her cheek.

Reid comes to her next. "I concur what Morgan says…" His voice slightly cracks. His back she rubs gently. "I miss our talks. I miss our chess games… can't seem to have anyone of them here challenge me…" The remark brings out the huffs and the chuckles from them when all she can find is her heart aching a bit more.

Their arms are unwrapped from one another, Emily turns to Garcia. Her shoulders are slumped and the frown she still wears. "You're going to make me say goodbye, aren't you?" she sulks.

Instantly then a drop of water hanging onto her lashes falls. "Tea, remember?" Their virtual tea time and Garcia nods. The frown changes to a knowing grin and she marches to her. Limbs around each other are firm.

"Next Sunday… be there or be squared…" she adds jokingly and sadly.

She doesn't pause at all. "_Definitely_."

Then their arms fall. She doesn't forget who remains. Her hand he had shaken on her last moments with the team all the while whispering congratulations on the job. Yet he stares from behind the rest of them. His eyes are dark. His face is tense. Movements he doesn't make and she wonders a little if this will be how they will say their goodbye. The upward curve of her lips she attempts to form on her face as she turns to JJ.

"Just let me get my things..." Her feet are shifting as she motions towards Rossi's office.

JJ bobs her head. "It's on the couch…"

She had wanted to drive her back to the hotel. She had protested at first, because it's too late and her husband and son were waiting for her at home. But JJ's fierce and headstrong, sometimes even worse than her, and wouldn't take any answer beside the one she wanted.

Up the stairs Emily goes and eyes she senses on her with every step. She pushes the door handle of Rossi's office door and flicks the light switch. To the couch at the end of the room she walks to. Her coat she picks up. Arms slide in once more. Buttons find their destination. She reaches for her bag. And after the straps of her bag are thrown over her shoulder and she is tugging out her hair out from under her coat, the sudden clearing of a throat is heard from behind. Emily spins quickly around to find Hotch taking a handful of footstep inside the space.

"Hey."

Her tone she keeps even unlike her heartbeat. Once and twice it skips.

He looks to the ground for a moment before his attention studies his surroundings before it ultimately lands on her. His face is tense once more with the faint furrow of his brows. His shoulders are squared just like how she had noted at her first observations of him.

"Um, I talked to JJ… and if you don't mind, I'd like to drive you back…"

Emily is taken back by his request. Voice deep and smooth, underneath it she hears the thread hope and the hint of nervousness that she wouldn't mind, that she'll say yes when really, she doesn't know what to say, how to react. No more than a minute can their conversations last because the three years without a word played its part.

Still though, she feels her head moving the slightest up and down. How this will play out, she's a little anxious and a lot curious. She licks her lips, hoping the skips of the organ in her chest can't be heard.

A soft grin materializes. "No… no… I don't mind…" she finally answers.

The sudden emergence of his gentle grin, one that she remembers from all those years prior, makes her heart skips a little faster. "Good… if you're ready… we can-"

"I'm good… we can go…"

Eyes locked for half a minute more until Emily lowers hers. Without a word she walks by him. His footsteps follow hers without hesitation. Then onto the catwalk and down the stairs and into open arms she walks to once more.

JJ squeezes her tightly. Her mouth by her ear, the talking from the others can't muffle her whispered words.

"He asked…" Emily nods slowly. "I couldn't say no… please don't be mad…"

Once pulled apart, the slight frown with the concern gaze upon JJ's face tugs on her heart. Her head she shakes while her brain spins pondering the dozens of questions. A chuckle escapes as she speaks. "It's okay… it's going to be fine."

A deep sigh JJ releases. She tugs her back.

"And he told me he wanted to…"

Her pulse, her heart stops for a moment. Her surprise she does her best to mask when she faces her and everyone else. All have their belongings as well. Then for a first time in a long time, just like how it would be when they would return after a long case from somewhere, they ride the elevator together. The seven of them fitted into the metal box brings back the memories she has never forgotten. Ten seconds it takes before they are walking across the lobby. And when they stand outside the glass doors and the November air has turned chillier and the wind has grown a touch stronger, last minute hugs and last second kisses are ordered. Everyone except him she hugs and kisses once more with a promises that she'll call them tomorrow once she makes it off the plane and back home across the ocean.

A full seven minutes it takes until Emily manages to walk away from everyone. It is just them then. The tears have built. She dabs at the corners of her eyes while Hotch watches her from his.

"You okay?"

The inquiry seems to ring in the night. Foolish he feels for asking something like this when he sees her like that. Nevertheless it is uttered and the quiet they had been walking with shatters.

Emily lets out a light laugh she assumes sounds pathetic. "I will be." She sniffles once and twice and gulps down the cold air.

His car they reach. She isn't surprise when he opens the door for her. A gentleman she has always thought of him. Those two words of gratitude are muttered before the door is shut. The driver's seat Hotch is in within seconds. The ignition turned on, the hush that rises while waiting for the engine to heat ends again with his words.

"Which hotel are you staying at?"

Her head twists to the left. "The Mayflower Renaissance..."

Hotch nods. He has passed the building a handful of times. His seatbelt he puts on. Emily subsequently follows. The parking space he pulls out of. In a matter of time the highway she sees once again. Quiet and tense just like their night has been it is for a while. She watches the passing trees and cars, musing what's going on in his head and he watches the road and her for a second every now and then, wondering the same about her

"How's London?"

His sudden voice, his question breaks the silence. A glance Hotch takes of her, lost into the scene that they pass by. Her head turns. In the shadows of the car and under the lights of the road, Emily sees the strong line of his jaw. Tight and tense it has seemed to remain. A long moment she stares at him and his profile before she clears her throat.

"It's good… beautiful, really. It took a little while getting used to… new city and new faces… the whole driving on the opposite sides of the road… and the weather, it took a little adjusting. But I think I've had enough experiences living in new places… so I'm more than good now…" Her words trail off with a faint smile gracing her face in the dark. She watches him bob his head once slowly as if processing the little information she just told him. Quiet it becomes again. Her eyes linger on him for moments longer before shifting downcast to her hands on her lap.

"And Interpol?" Her gaze returns to him. "I picture it's going well too."

Regardless if he isn't looking at her, Emily nods once more. "Yeah… it is." The corner of her mouth she bites on for a split second before continuing on. "It's doesn't feel so different from being here, really… Trying to stop whatever bad things from happening, we're just dealing with almost the whole world instead of a town or a city…" Hotch bobs his head once more. "The people I work with are great… No one has given me any trouble..." She lets out a steady sigh and shrugs her shoulders lightly. "And Clyde has been good to me… helped me with the inner layouts of everything I need to do, what I needed to know about…"

In the dark Emily sees him gulp heavily. Yet what she doesn't see is the knuckles of his hands turning white from the grip of the steering wheel. She doesn't see that his mind is forming the questions and scenarios. She doesn't see that his heart might have dropped a little.

She trusted Clyde Easter then and still trusts him now. The years they have known one another, working together from various parts of the world, the relationship they have kept intact and strong. The uneasiness starts in the pit of his stomach. The small clump in his throat forms. With her, when it comes to her, Hotch feels more than he should. He feels every emotion possible in the universe. Ever since Colorado, heightened with Foyet and unshakable because of Doyle, whatever the situation, they have been buried and repressed almost repeatedly. Yet leaving him, forgetting them, it has never once happened.

And now at the very moment he is a little envious. Perhaps he has been after discovering the ties they had created at Interpol, after he had offered her the position that she had taken across the ocean. He questions if it has been him who has become her confidant. He wonders if he is the one she talks to if she gets any bad days.

But wordless Hotch remains. Her gaze is heavy on him. He will not ask. Just like how it had been when she had told him she was going to London, it was not his place to he is certain of.

A moment longer Emily looks at him until her head is bowed slightly. She picks at her coat he sees from corner of his eyes. And when a minute and two passes, her soft voice is heard.

"How's Jack doing?" With the mention of his son, almost instantly the grip of the steering wheel unconsciously loosens. "He's doing well, I hope." Her head lifts once more to look at him. "He should be…" She thinks for a second, doing the mental math in her head. "He should be ten, right?" Her voice turns a little lighter, a little higher almost pondering if she guessed right and hoping she has.

An easy chuckle follows immediately and unexpectedly from him and Emily feels the sudden flip of her heart. So long ago it has been since she heard that rare sound from him. She sees the soft grin appearing on his face with the lines at the ends of his eyes showing. It is his son that has always managed to bring out a side of him that so little people see and experience. A side that makes her heart flutters a lot and aches a little. Everything he has ever done since she has known him has been for his son. Even so, he doubts himself still at being the best father.

And once Hotch takes the brief moment to glance at her beside him, her stare under the lights of the highway he finds intent and sincere. "Yeah, he is… turned ten last month." His attention returns to the road. "And he's doing great… exceptional at school and the top of his class. Soccer too…" He can't help but add as well.

Emily nods with a wide grin. "Hmm… Rossi told me something about winning a city championship last year…" The smile on his face has widened a touch as he laughs and nods himself.

"Jack scored the winning goal…" he says proudly yet humbly.

"You must be proud." It doesn't need to be stated, but she does regardless.

His face seems to soften under her eyes as his voice turns gentle. "I am… every single day I am."

She raises her hand, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. JJ's words echo in the back of her head. "Well in case I forget to tell you, but thanks for the ride. Even with Jack most likely asleep now… I'm sure you probably wanted to get back home to him." Her head cocks slightly, wondering if her chosen words might give her the tiniest hint as to his reason. He had wanted to drive her back to the hotel. That was what he told JJ.

But hard to break is this man at times.

"He isn't home actually." His throat he clears slightly. "He is with Haley's parents for the weekend… Jessica took him. They're celebrating Thanksgiving or they were celebrating it tonight. Since Dave wanted to host Thanksgiving dinner this year. With his free time he said… he wanted to make it for everyone… and we all had promised him…" His words trail off, wondering if what he has just said has any effect on her.

Her gaze drops from his face and lands on her bag sitting on her lap. "Hmm… that's sweet…" Her words disappear just like his did. Emily _almost_ forgets what she wants to know because she wonders if she has just given away what she is feeling then; a little envious and a lot sad for the simple reason that she will be across the ocean when they will celebrate like a family. And once he takes a glimpse of her because she remains quiet for a moment too long Hotch finds his voice and himself surprisingly saying what they had hoped for before.

"It'd be nice, I think… if you came. _I'd like it if you could come…_"

_If you stay._

That is what he really wants to say.

_I'd like it if you could stay._

However though, even if those specific words aren't said aloud because he doesn't know just how to say them, her heart skips once and twice. When they could barely talk to one another for the night, when they could only make eye contact and find the ease upon the subject of his son, in a matter of minutes, moments, they have, the atmosphere completely changes. Her eyes shut. It is the way he says it. It is the sound of his voice low and soft and intense.

And it reminds her all too well.

The early in the morning after Louisville, Emily had gone back after she left. To check on him, to make sure he had been alright she had told herself. In truth though; it had been for herself. He had _scared_ her. In between thirty days she had nearly lost him twice. On his door she had knocked. When Hotch had found her on the other side of his doorway; surprise, curiosity and confusion flickered across his tired and broken features. Her mind had been spinning. Her heart had been pounding. Never was Emily the one to be impulsive. Yet she had been because on her toes she had stood to seize his mouth in hers. She had thought about crying. For what she was doing, for what she has been feeling ever since New York, for what she had continued fearing ever since she had discovered the blood soaked into his carpet, the weigh on her shoulders had lifted.

But then the seconds had begun to tick away. Hotch had remained motionless. The heat had risen to her cheeks. She had felt the water forming at the edges of her lashes. The consequences had raced through her brain. And Emily had started pulling away.

It had been then he had shifted. His body had moved closer as his callous hands had traveled up. Rough fingertips grazing the smooth skin of her neck, carefully she had opened her eyes to find his. Dark they had been and she couldn't figure it out what he was thinking and couldn't imagine what he was going to do.

_I'm sorry._

That was what Emily had wanted to say.

"_I'm sorry."_

That was what he had said.

In an instant his mouth had found hers once again.

Hotch hadn't known how he would stop himself. He hadn't known if he wanted to stop. That had been the reason behind his apology. The thoughts accumulating since Colorado, her worried face he saw beside his bed at the hospital and the care and concern he has felt from her after New York, after Foyet, kissing her had felt _so _good. And in the back of his head and deep down in his heart, he hadn't been able to shake off that feeling that it had felt _so_ right too.

The boundaries had been crossed and there had been no rewinding back time.

Rough and hard it had begun. Slow and steady it had settled into. But still, Emily had felt and Hotch hadn't been able to deny it.

There had been the want.

There had been the need.

There had been the passion.

Behind every kiss placed here and there, every caress of porcelain skin and fresh pink scars and every thrust that made her whimper and him grunt, from the beginning to end it had been there.

And when the sun had barely started peeking from the horizon, Emily had begun detangling their long naked legs from underneath the thick comforter. Her best she had done to not wake him when she left his hold, his bed, his room and ultimately his home. She had almost been free until one foot had been placed on his soft carpet. Her slender and tiny wrist Hotch had caught gently yet firmly. Her entire body had frozen. A deep breath she had taken, hoping to calm the war that seemed to start within her. Carefully she had turned her head. The silence had been deafening. Stares had been leveled. She had sworn her heartbeat could be heard from miles away. She had felt the sudden glaze of her pupils and wondered if he could see it. With the lights from the outside world filtering into his room, she had studied his face. Impassive had been the first word to come up in her head. But that hadn't been to describe his whispered words to her. It had been the farthest description in the world.

"_I'd like it if you could stay."_

Hotch had been vulnerable and she had been too. That was what she had tried telling herself. But staying motionless and studying him as he studied her right back, there had been something more to his words, to his voice.

The need was there. But it had been the want that was too evident and undeniable.

He had wanted her to stay.

Emily could see the heavy rise and fall of his bare chest. Her wrist he still had held onto. What was happening between them; she hadn't had a clue about it. All she had known; felt had been her body slowly and fully twisting around as her foot had lifted from his carpet. Her exposed supple breasts with their harden nipples from the faint chill of the first morning of autumn he had outlined with his eyes in the shadows. Movements almost in slow motion, she had shifted back. Their gazes remained locked with one another. Into his bed and into the space she had occupied, Emily had laid down. Her hair slightly fanning out on the pillow that had his something spicy scent lingering all over. In moments his head, his naked body had inched forwards. Their noses nearly grazing and their lips centimeters from touching once again in the night, the grasp Hotch had of her wrist had loosen and began a careful journey to her hand.

Palms had connected. Fingers had intertwined. Their hands had been perfect together.

She hadn't wanted to let go.

Something had begun that early morning of autumn. Whatever it had been Hotch couldn't find the words, the phrases or sentences to describe it, to label it. The ease they seemed to fall into each other, the rules broken and lines crossed, they were simple and complicated rolled into one. All he had known was that it was something; _she_ was something that had made him feel a little alive and a lot whole.

There had been something about Emily Prentiss.

Everything had felt surreal.

After all Hotch had thought of and imagined out of his mind about to be intoxicating, exquisite, and mysterious, in the end ultimately indescribable she was to him.

He had needed her. He had wanted her.

Late nights into the early mornings, they were tangled with one another through their bodies and minds because he had talked.

To her he had only confided in.

When no one could get him talking, when he would smile tersely at the concern questions or shrug off the worried stares, Emily had never received that from him. He liked to be strong. Despite the monster that haunted him, despite how much he missed his son and hoped to keep the promises he had made in that hospital room, he had an exterior impossible to remove. He wore masks and had walls too high around him. But she had cracked and broken them eventually. Time, patience and many nights of sitting in silence because sometimes Hotch hadn't needed comforting words or constant questions.

He had wanted to know to know she was on his side. He had needed to feel her beside him.

That night after Louisville she had let him know.

He wasn't alone. He had her.

But only for two months could that last.

He had been faced with his broken reality. Promises he hadn't been able to keep. He had failed his family, his son. Guilt and grief had sunk into him.

Emily in turn felt every little bit he had.

The pain and anger she felt for him had been eating her up inside. The face she had seen on the man pinned beneath her in Nashville was Foyet's. Mocking him and them because the battle he had still lost even with his monster beaten to death with bare hands. She had wanted so badly to pull the trigger. But she hadn't been able to. What she would think of herself afterwards, what he would think of her when he would learn about her actions, she hadn't wanted to know.

Once that case in Nashville had been over, an hour after the jet had landed, Emily had found herself standing in front of his door. The thinking she had been doing with the week, everything that had been about them she had known to be over. It hadn't meant to last. Wanting to knock, but debating because it had been too late and he had his son, back and forth it had gone through her head until the door had noiselessly swung open. He had heard a sound, pacing if he was exact.

"Hey."

He had looked tired and so had she.

"Hey."

Then Hotch had invited her in wordlessly. And fourteen minutes after side by side and hushed and avoiding eyes they were seated on his couch. Two cups of hot tea had been placed before them untouched. Seconds and minutes Emily had counted in the back of her brain wondering when he would say it because she couldn't.

"We can't… anymore…"

She had understood them. She had understood him.

"I know…"

Yet despite it, Emily had felt her heart slowly cracking. His stare she felt sinking into her. Hotch had wanted her to look up, to look at him. Sixty seconds it had fully taken before she did. Glassy eyes he had discovered. Her damndest she had tried to cling onto the tears.

"_I'm sorry…"_

Quick she had been to shake her head because none of this was his fault. Perhaps it was hers because she had been the one to kiss him first. She had been the one to make the move.

"No… no… I know… it's… complicated…"

Just like them. Her head she had dropped.

"I should go…"

Her growing bangs she had swept back while she stood and bit the corner of her mouth. Immediately he had followed her movements. His footsteps right behind her as she moved across his living room. And when her hand had lifted to the doorknob, her wrist Hotch caught like that first night. Gentle yet firm, the two steps separating them he had erased. Closer he had leaned into her. His nose had settled into the back of her head into her sleek raven locks. Emily had felt him inhaling deeply because what he had wanted then was to remember the faint scent of mingling apples and blossoms that seemed to always dance around her. But no more than five seconds had it lasted because her head had bowed and her wrist she had regretfully and softly tugged out of his grasp. Out his door seconds later, the hot tears had slide down her cheeks without hesitation.

That had been the first time she walked away from him because two years later Emily did so again.

It had been in the conference room. After the hearing, after she had been reinstated, Rossi had brought out the scotch and whiskey from his office. Just the seven of them, they had drank and celebrated. Together again and a team once more they were. Hours later though, it had been time to leave and one by one everyone had sauntered out of the room to gather their things before leaving for the following day.

They had been the last ones.

The room had been quiet. A foot apart they had sat. Emily had held the glass of whiskey between her hands while Hotch had continued to nurse his second glass of scotch. They hadn't spoken much the whole day. Just a handful words because he had welcomed her back with a handshake and a small smile. It had been nothing but professional and everything they had seemed to turn into ever since the night after Nashville.

Distance they had built between them.

Yet watching her closely he had done and continued to do so because worrying about her was constant. On the field, in the office, seconds longer than it probably should of his gaze would linger upon her. And Emily hadn't doubt it that it had been him in the courtroom. The last one to stand, the last to leave; his eyes were fixed on her so hard and steady before the door had closed.

And then there, Hotch had been staring while the tip of her index finger outlined the glass.

He had wanted to tell her. What he thought he would never be able to say because she had ran. To face her monster, to protect them, finding her possessions in her drawer had him almost regretting instantly that one night nearly two years prior and the space he had needed to put between them.

She was something. She had meant _something_ to him.

"Thank you."

Her words had been sudden and broke the hush in the room. It took a minute until Emily looked up. Eyes a little glazed over, the corners of her pink lips had been softly tugged at.

"_Thank you… for everything…"_

There had been so much; almost _too_ much she had wanted to say to him hanging at the tip of her tongue. How she ultimately felt about them, about him. But she hadn't been able to.

"_Always."_

Hardly a beat passed for his response. Their eyes had held onto one another until her head had bowed and she pushed her seat back. Slowly she had stood and smoothed out the skirt she wore.

"Garcia's probably waiting for me… somewhere." Her fingertips tapped against the cherry oak table. "I should go find her…" Briefly he had nodded. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Hotch," she had whispered.

But as soon as she had turned and took a footstep back, her wrist Hotch had caught it once more. Like that night after St. Louis, after Nashville, gentle and firm once again. Her breath had hitched in her throat while he had swallowed the lump in his. It had been so dangerous. Being in the conference room regardless of the time, getting caught by anyone had been a possibly. But it hadn't registered in his head. All he had thought about was her and the possibly of losing her again. He had almost lost her twice. Carefully he had stood as well. The space he had erased between them.

"_Emily…"_

Deep, soft and intense, the way he had said her name with his touch on her reminded her so much of once upon a time ago sent the chill down her spine. With a gentle pull from him their bodies, their faces had been against one another. Eyes had been closed. Her lips had grazed his tense jawline before their foreheads had been pressed together. Even as their breathing grew a little heavy, the heat was rising in their bodies, without opening his mouth yet, Emily had an inkling of what Hotch wanted to say.

She had known what he had wanted, needed.

Her. Them.

"_I can't…"_

And she hadn't been able to. Give herself to him, have them together again because she had been _so_ damaged inside and outside. She had felt like a mess and nothing like how she used to be. Nothing about him had she felt differently about, but everything of herself she had felt differently about.

It wouldn't have been fair to him or to them.

"I can't_… _everything is just… just_ I can't…"_

A part of him hadn't been surprised. Everything that had happened to her, she had needed time to adjust. She had simply needed time. Hotch had known better than anyone else. Yet he had hoped that perhaps the outcome had been different. Her answer would have been different.

"I know…"

Her head Emily had pulled back. Once she had opened her eyes, her glassy pupils had found his in the state.

"_I'm sorry…"_

She had without warning sniffled.

"I know… _I know…"_

Hotch had released her wrist then.

Nothing more she had said because she had walked away from him, from them.

Months afterwards he had met Beth.

And that very first time at the park when they all had met her, it had dawned on her that he was moving on. He had been ready to move forward in his life after so long. He had found someone. He had looked happy. Beth had been making him happy. Herself she had continued to find, to feel comfortable in her skin again. She hadn't been able to fault him. He couldn't and shouldn't have had to wait until every piece of her would be put back together. She had questioned if he would have even wanted her after she would be put back together with cracks and scars.

So Emily had been happy for him, for them regardless of all she had felt for him, about them for the simplest reason that nothing had changed.

Nothing has changed.

"Emily?"

She hears name.

"Emily?"

Again she hears it.

There is a sudden warm touch on her hand. A gentle shake follows and her eyes begin to gradually open. It takes her a minute to adjust to the street lights shining through the glass and another moment to register that everything outside has stopped moving. The entire vehicle is at a full halt. The engine has been shut off. And in the short distance she sees the glow and the shine her hotel. She had fallen asleep. She hadn't even realized she had been tired. All she remembers last is trying to forget how his words, his voice had sounded once ago.

She runs her fingers through her hair and turns. She finds his stare fixed and steady on her. The pink she begins to feel in her cheeks.

"Sorry… I didn't even realize I had fallen asleep…" A little she attempts to laugh. "Or that tired to begin with." Her voice is the slightest groggy.

Morning it is in London. Almost an entire day she has been awake.

Hotch shakes his head while he offers the faint curl of his thin lips. "No, it's fine. You should be tired. It's… it has been a night for you."

Slowly Emily sits a little up. Another moment passes as she feels the knots untying from her position and sleeping.

"Thanks again for the ride," she murmurs in the night. She doesn't know what to say next. How she should put her next words together because how long again before they speak again she doesn't have an inkling of. She pauses briefly before licking the corners of her mouth. "I really appreciate it…"

That is all she can come up with. This will be their goodbye until whenever again. She wants to leave right then and there because suddenly she feels quick beats of her heart and think that maybe if she stays a bit longer he will hear them.

Hotch nods. "I'll walk with you."

Emily doesn't have the time to say anything. She can't find herself protesting. And almost as fast as he had told her, out of the car he is and her door he opens for her exit. The November winds hits her immediately. But the chill running on up her spine and the goosebumps rising on her skin has nothing to do with the wind because he helps her out of the car like a gentleman and once she is out the car and stands beside him, for a passing moment, his touch she feels on the small of her back.

Five seconds later they begin their walk to the hotel and a minute after into the warm lobby they stand. The noise and chatter of everyone else in the world and the soft music that continues to be played fills the quiet between them. Yet only for so long it can last because when they stand in the elevator alone once more they are. Straight ahead Emily stares and Hotch as well with a glance of her at his side. The sharp ding rings and signals that they had arrived at the seventh floor, out she steps first. His footsteps trail behind her down the quiet hallways. Her hands reaching into her bag for her key card. And when they reach her room, bit by bit she twists to face him. His expression she can't read, can't figure out. His thin lips have made another terse line and his brows had been the slightest furrowed. A nervous coil of her lips for him.

"You didn't have to walk me up here, you know?" His words she has remembered despite so many years.

A beat and she watches his expressions change and soften a touch. "I know." He says it nonchalantly like she had responded to him. "I wanted to." He adds without hesitation and confidently because it's true.

Her heart skips."Thanks again…" Her head she bobs. "And it was good… to see you again…"

It was. It is.

Their eyes lock before Hotch moves his head gently up and down as well.

"_Me too."_

Around she turns again. The key card she slips into place. The green bulb lights up. The handle is pushed down. The door opens. One foot then the other, into her dark room she steps into. Without a word, without a glance Emily disappears from his sights.

For a long period afterwards, Hotch finds his feet stuck to the ground staring at her door.

He had wanted to tell her.

That was why he had wanted to drive her back.

He wants to tell her.

How she had suddenly filtered into his thoughts after Colorado. How he had found himself needing her comfort and wanting her company. How much he felt himself wondering and worrying about her because losing her once and twice had been too much for him. How he had realized that no one has been able to compare, to compete with what he feels for her and simply her.

Truth told, outside his team, his son and the handful of people he trusted to watch his son when he couldn't, Hotch had been alone and lonely. What he had wanted he couldn't have. And when Beth had jogged up behind him that morning and they had begun talking, he had welcomed the friendship. Yet those friendly encounters had soon enough turned into light flirty encounters. Nice and attractive she was and he hadn't been able to deny. Their conversations had been good. Her presence he had enjoyed. Still what was happening in the park hadn't been able make him forget her. Seeing her every day, worrying about her every time she would be out of his sights, it would had been a lie to say he didn't still want her, want them.

However though the night after Houston, alone in his room he had thought about what she had talked about, confessed to him on the plane. He had remembered what had happened between them years ago in his bed. It hadn't been because he didn't want her, want them anymore. She had still needed time. And he had wanted to try. He had liked Beth. So he had given it a chance and asked her out, albeit awkward because so long it had been since he asked anyone out on a date. She had said yes nevertheless and they had begun something.

And Emily had looked happy for him, for them.

So everything had been well. For the first time in a long while, he had felt good.

But then in his arms she had danced into.

His mind he had already felt spinning from before. He had wondered if it was the last few days. He had worried if it had been something worse because of the way her eyes had averted his and jumped from here to there as she had sighed loudly.

That had been her tell for as long as he could remember.

Yet the following morning, the date they had made, Hotch had to wait for to ultimately learn about her future because it had been JJ's night. Four years it had taken for the wedding to happen. She hadn't been able to fathom ruining any part of it because smiles and laughs had filled the spring night as the music played and they all had dance. Songs that altered from quick beats to soft melodies, partners had been exchanged with glee and anticipation.

Then it had been their turn.

Out of Rossi's embrace Emily had turned into his. Her hand had been in his and he had recalled the very first time their hands had been held together in his bed after St. Louis. It had been perfect after all the passed time. Their feet had moved together. Their bodies had swayed together. Fresh in his mind, Hotch had remembered how they had fitted so well together. A hand she had settled on his shoulder blade. A hand he had placed on the curve of her back. Emily had beamed. She had laughed and he had as well because it had been infectious. She had looked good and happy, nothing like what he had witnessed with her before. He in turn had felt more than just good and happy.

He had felt alive.

And when the beats had gradually slowed and begun to change, Hotch had felt himself drawing her nearer. Their chests had been against each other. Her right hand in his left still, his fingers had closed around her hand one by one. The hand he had on the small of her back had shifted. Her tiny waist his arm had encircled. He had felt the hand on his back bit by bit cling on. Once he breathed in and caught the scent of apples and blossoms, feeling her in his arms and thinking about what tomorrow would mean, he hadn't been able to control himself.

"_You look beautiful."_

Emily had blushed without delay. From the corner of his eyes he had watched the smile form on her face. Her head had turned the slightest closer to his. Then in the background he had heard the faint sound of Beth laughing with Reid.

Hotch hadn't been able to understand how everything had felt so wrong yet so right.

That had been why he hadn't been able to say anything, why he hadn't been able to ask her to stay when he had finally learned about London.

But it had been afterwards that he had realized.

Beth had moved to New York. Late night phone calls they had here and there to stay connected, to see how everything was, that everyone was okay. On the phone they had been earlier in the evening. She had called, wanting to confirm the weekend trip he and his son would be taking to see her. That night he had lain in bed. Impossible to sleep because difficult he found sleeping sometimes and the thunder outside had rumbled in the sky. Deep breaths he had taken. The scent of apples and blossoms no longer had lingered in his sheets, but he had still remembered it, still smelled it from somewhere and everywhere. And when he had stayed up a while more listening to the rain splatter against his windows, he had wondered if it had been raining in her city now. He had thought about the day that had just started across the ocean.

Hotch couldn't deny it anymore.

Wanting to move on and moving on had been different.

He had been the former and never had been the latter because when his phone had chimed, for a moment for another time since she had left, he had hoped for someone else to be at the other end of the line. It hadn't been New York he had hoped to be connected to.

It had been London.

Emily he had wished would be calling.

He had missed _her_.

And Hotch had known he couldn't do it. Almost to a year after they had met, he had ended things with Beth. The distance, the travel and the time apart she had believed to play its part. But he hadn't because it really wasn't. The relationship had run its course and it had been her friendship that he had treasured more.

But he is he.

He can face the monsters of the world daily. He can take down any man with no fear. He can pull a trigger without delay.

Yet Emily Prentiss scares him.

A deep exhale he releases. He resists the urge to move the five steps forward and knock on her door. Years have passed. People change. His thoughts, his feelings about her have not wavered. But he isn't sure about hers. And if they have, it will hurt a little more than if she tells him she can't yet even after so long because it had taken him years before he was truly ready for anything.

His feet Hotch finally twists around and the same path back he takes. Two minutes it is until he's standing in the lobby again. The people still around with luggage and talking as if it hadn't been after one in the morning.

He sighs. He doesn't think he can sleep. His head, everything in there is on overdrive. He doesn't want to go back to his empty apartment. He doesn't want to find the company in the work tonight. He actually doesn't believe it can even help him tonight. His gaze scans the bright lobby before they land into the dimly lit space with the soft music filtering out in the far right.

And Hotch walks.

Just a half of dozen people are in there. The stool at the end of the counter he takes. His coat he shrugs off. Whiskey he orders. Bills he hands to the bartender. But a sip he doesn't take, never takes. For a while he simply sits in there. Her voice he hears. Her face he sees. Her body he feels. And he doesn't think being in the quietness of the place with the music that makes him remember the dances shared helps in any way or form.

Those memories come out without abandonment like a flood.

For so long she has this effect on him.

No drink, not time can take any of it, of her away.

Everything about her has become a staple in his head, his heart.

His eyes he rubs. Staring so hard into the amber liquid in the glass he has begun to see her in it. A glance at his watch tells him it is a quarter after two. It's late and he should go home. Carefully he moves. This time tomorrow she will be in London. Slowly his feet find the ground. He doesn't bother putting his coat back on. He wonders if she is asleep already. His head he raises. And upon the first step he takes, Hotch freezes.

He gets his answer.

At the entrance of the lounge beneath the glow of the yellow bulbs Emily stands.

Her coat she wears with buttons in place. Her hands are in her pockets. Her feet are together.

She stares at him. Maybe it's because of the lighting and the distance, but any hint of surprise and curiosity isn't visible. Anxious she appears to be. The faint curl of her lips can't hide the fact because she really is.

After she had closed the door without a word, without another look at him, Emily had stood behind it. She still had clutched onto the lever. Her forehead had rested against the polished wood door. Her eyelids had dropped shut. She had sighed. She had wanted to know. She had wanted to ask. The reason behind why he had wanted to drive her back here, she had felt it. As if there was something more, he had held back.

And Emily had wanted to tell him.

How she had thought of him. How their conversations and comfortable silence she had yearned for on those bad days. How picking up the phone had been difficult to do because she had been a coward. Worried about what he would say to her, scared that he had changed, and petrified that perhaps he hadn't wanted her or them anymore.

Above it though, Emily had wanted him to know that she had simply missed _him_.

She hadn't wanted to sleep. She hadn't believed she would have been able to anyway. So by the window she had sat in her dress still. Biting her short nails because that was just a habit she couldn't break, Emily had listened to the wind outside. She had outlined the buildings and the monuments in the distance. She had tried thinking about work, about the meetings lined up when she would return. Yet her thoughts had always come back to him. Her room had felt suffocating. She had felt suffocated.

So her coat she had donned on again. Her feet had slipped back into those shoes with the blood red soles. Down the halls and into the elevator she had gone to. Across the lobby and out the double doors she had breathed in the crisp autumn air again. The winds, the chill had pricked on her skin once more.

She had walked.

Just like earlier though, her head hadn't cleared. Even finding the hard leaves in her path hadn't helped. Her thoughts had refused to stop running.

When she had twisted her heels around after half a dozen blocks because she had realized it might have been too late to be out alone, she had caught it a block from the hotel. Her heart had stopped momentarily. She had read it and reread it. It had been his license plate. It had been his car. For a flash of a moment she had feared something happened. That day where she had discovered the blood in his carpet she had thought of. But as quick as it had came, Emily shook it off. She hadn't wanted to imagine those scenarios. Not then and not ever. She hadn't bothered with her bag. She had forgotten about her phone. The only thing she had had was her key card in her pocket.

She had started the journey back to the hotel then. She had wondered where he had gone to. If he had gone for a walk himself or if he had perhaps went to one place where she had found him a handful of times before late in the nights. Her steps had quickened. Two minutes later and a bit breathless, back into the hotel lobby she had been. Her eyes had scanned the area until she had moved towards the far right towards the dimly lit space where the soft melodies had flowed from.

And at the corner of the counter, the very last stool Emily had found him.

Fear had subsided. Relief had swept over her.

He had been okay.

Late night walks Emily had taken so many times before. In this city and that state every now then after she would return, Hotch she would find with a glass of something before him.

San Francisco had been the first time.

It had been suicide by cop and the bullet had come from his gun. His body had refused to let him rest. His eyes hadn't wanted to shut. So he had gone down to the quiet bar in the hotel. And he had thought about the man he had killed. The double life led by him and the family that had been left in the dark and ultimately left behind. She had been beside him when the trigger had been pulled. He hadn't wanted to. He had bargained with the man. But into his jacket the suspect had reached into and with any kind of movement no choice had been left. Hotch had fired and the man had died.

A photo of his wife and son around Jack's age was what he had been in his pocket they had discovered soon after.

Quietly Emily had walked into the bar and a seat she took next to him. Her presence it had taken him half a minute to registered. Hotch had looked up to find her and a small and comforting smile that he had done his best to return it.

She hadn't even needed to ask.

He hadn't objected.

Side by side with elbows just barely grazing she had kept him company.

But tonight is different.

Emily had debated whether to run or to stay

Her feet though had refused to move and for nearly a hundred and twenty seconds she had watched him. Shoulders a little slumped over, into the filled glass he had been fixed on. She hadn't doubt it had been untouched. Then he had begun to move. She hadn't been able to react. His hands had rubbed his eyes before he had glimpsed at his watch. His coat he had picked up as he stood. He had finally looked up and prepared to take a step.

And Hotch had found her.

Frozen for minutes they are. Emily with the faint curl of her lip as the shock remains on his. Their eyes are locked and leveled. The thumps of his heart mix with the music. The warmth she feels creeping up her skin. How this will play out she can't even imagine.

But she wants to find out.

Another sixty second ticks away and it is her that makes the first move.

Two dozen steps it is before they stand a foot apart.

She's nervous and feels the pink hue in her cheeks. "I thought you had left," she whispers.

The shock of seeing her has bit by bit vanished from his face. Hotch nods briefly. His throat clears. "I did…" Almost. "I just… wanted a drink…"

It's a lie and he knows she knows because he remembers all those times she had found him with an untouched drink late at night.

Slowly Emily eyes the glass filled with the amber liquid.

"Would you like to sit?"

His hushed question catches him and her by surprise. Her attention shifts back to him. A moment passes before she gives him another gentle nod. Carefully she climbs onto the stool and she makes note how his hand is out to steady her, catch her if she so falters. Once Emily is sitting with her legs crossed, Hotch returns to the seat he had previously occupied. Her hair she nervously tucks behind her hair as her other hand fiddles with the round pieces on her coat. One, then two and the last one, her coat has come undone.

A glimpse of her dress he sees.

The bartender makes his way towards them and for a fleeting second, he eyes them both back and forth suspiciously. Yet she keeps mum on it as well as him before the man across from them asks what they want. Brandy on the rocks she orders. But his hand Hotch holds up politely. The whiskey from before still sits on the counter. And when the snifter filled with the light amber colored liquid and ice cubes is placed in front of her, he doesn't hesitate. Money Hotch hands to the man.

"Thanks," Emily murmurs once the bartender walks away.

His head moves a touch up and down. She tugs the drink closer to her. Her eyes watch as her fingertips trail along the round bottom edge of the snifter. The music substitutes the quiet between them for a moment until he speaks.

"You went for a walk?"

Her gape lifts. This isn't the first time they have found one another late in the night. His eyes are on her, studying her. A chuckle from her escapes almost breathlessly.

"Yeah… I couldn't sleep and just wanted a little air…"

A beat passes.

"How'd you know I was here?"

She knows him well too. Her shoulders she gingerly shrugs as the corners of her lips twitch upwards.

"Hmm… deductive reasoning…" she whispers a little playfully.

It is beyond what they have been experiencing the entire night. With her words and the way she says it though, the soft smile plays on his thin lips pleases her. But soon enough the silence resumes. Their eyes drop almost simultaneously. The tension surrounds them. The nervousness, the awkwardness fills them. The feeling of not knowing what to say when they used to say more to one another than to anyone else has paralyzed them.

Emily doesn't want it like that any longer.

"Is this how it's going to be?" The faint crack of her voice she can't control and Hotch can't miss. "With us?" Her drink turns the slightest hazy. "Because I don't want this…"

She doesn't want them like that anymore.

"_I've missed you."_

Without regret she tells him.

Emily feels the weight lift off her shoulders. A deep inhale she takes. The knots he feels forming in his chest. His heartbeat has stopped just like his world has. Once he looks up, Hotch finds her watching him. The dimly lit lights have highlighted the glisten in her eyes.

First steps have been taken.

"Why did you want to drive me back?"

She doesn't want to go back. He doesn't want to look back.

"_Because I've missed you, too."_

And he too tells her without regret.

"I'm sorry…" More than she will ever know. "For how it has been between us…" Hotch sighs quietly. "I never meant for any of it, but it's… it's just been difficult…"

Lightly Emily nods. "Me too." She says nothing for a moment. "I thought about calling you, you know…" She releases a soft titter. "To see if things were good... or to just talk because I talked to everyone except for you…" Her voice cracks the slightest. "But I didn't know how you'd feel…"

"How did you think I'd feel?"

Without hesitation Hotch questions her. Angry he doesn't sound but just the slightest sad, she thinks to herself.

"Honestly…" Her heart is pounding. "I was just afraid… and confused…" Saying this aloud for the first time, it makes Emily feel ridiculous. But it is the truth and she doesn't want to hide anything anymore. "I was trying to move on… to feel safe and secure again and everything was going good for you… and I don't know…" Her eyes shift from his. "I guess I didn't want to ruin anything…" The glasses filled with liquid, her nails, the polished wood counter, everywhere and anything she is looking at but at him. And before she realizes, Emily sighs loudly.

_Her tell._

He makes an immediate note of it and knows that it's something more. He can't shake off the feeling perhaps it's someone more.

"_And I just wanted you to be happy…"_

For a moment Hotch says nothing. Emily continues to avoid him. She can't imagine what he is thinking of her, of what she has just said to him. But his gaze remains steady on her. Maybe it's because his job is studying behavior and the way the mind works. Maybe it's because he simply knows her all too well sometimes. He is uncertain if it's the combination of both of these things. Whatever the reason it is, her final seven words confirm that feeling he can't shake off. He pauses momentarily. Everything he wants to tell her, say to her had been jumbled in his head for so long.

"There's a difference, you know… wanting to be happy and actually being happy… I wanted to be happy…" he begins softly. "After everything…" The divorce, Foyet, Haley, her and them, he makes the list in his head. "It was hard. And Beth was good..." His voice gradually dips. "It felt good… to have that human… companionship… and something… it felt… easy…" he trails off.

Hotch doesn't know if he should use that word because from beginning to end it had taken work and effort between the both of them. Yet he recalls the struggles and problems he and Haley had gone through. He thinks about the obstacles, scars and denial he and she are trying to overcome at the very moment.

Easy just seems to fit.

"And I think the longer it continued…" Emily senses the light shrug of his shoulder. His attention lands on the drink before him. Hotch fingers the napkin placed beneath the glass. "The more realized I didn't want it…"

Finally her head she lifts. "So you wanted difficult?" The hint of doubt lingers in her voice.

His head he shakes. "No… I just wanted the connection…"

He had wanted the comfortable silence. He had wanted to be able to talk, to say anything on his mind without fear of rejection, of pity. He had wanted understanding and support. He had wanted hands fitted perfectly. He had wanted hearts beating together. He had wanted bodies in sync.

And Hotch had wanted the passion.

His eyes return to her. Even their stares are. Every bit of him is piercing through her.

"_I wanted you…"_

In an instant her world has stopped turning. Emily feels her heart pounding like drums. The disbelief is in her eyes.

But the truth is in his.

"Beth moved to New York. She got a job offer at a gallery… and we would talk on the phone. But every time the phone would ring… for a split second …" Hotch licks his lips. "If you still had any bad days…" That he continues to worry about. "If you just wanted to talk… I wanted it to be you…" He breathes in deeply and quietly. "_I wanted you to be on the other end_…" And bit by bit his gaze moves. "It wasn't fair to Beth…"

He doesn't need to say it and she knows. Her eyes turn downcast. They had broken up. She had heard the news from JJ. The ice cubes in the alcohol has been slowly melting. Emily hadn't known what to say, much less think of it then and especially now. Her fingers find the round bottom edge of the glass again. She knows it's not his intention or that he blames her for anything. But regardless the twinge of guilt sinks into her.

All along it has been because of her. All along he has wanted them.

The music takes place of the silence once more. What to say, what to do next, the uncertainty at the moment feels a little overwhelming. His voice, his words plays in her and his head because he hopes he didn't scare her. He puts none of the blame on her. Never had he and never will he. Himself he does though because it had taken him perhaps too long to realize that there hadn't been and possibly never will be anyone else in the world that he wanted, that he wants.

Hotch raises his head. Emily feels his eyes on her again. Maybe it's the music that has him remembering still. He shifts. Maybe it's because he thinks tonight might be the beginning of something he never wants to end. Three years it has been.

All he wants is her. All he wants is them.

So it is him this time. It is his turn to make the first move, to be the impulsive one.

Without warning, his hand covers hers.

Time freezes. His touch is warm. Her breath comes to a halt. His thumb grazes her knuckles. Emily can't bring her eyes up to him. However the gentle tug he gives her makes her and he finds her dark pupils trembling. Yet his eyes are soft, his features almost relaxed because there is still a fear of rejection in his head. The chill runs down her spine. Slowly Hotch stands and she can't help but follow. Her mind races, wondering what he might do, wants to do. Then suddenly she feels her eyes growing large. Emily feels her chest rising and falling rapidly because the edges of her coat he grasps. Carefully he pushes it back. Her hair tickles her bare shoulders. Eyes connect and the item of clothing he slides off her. Then before she knows it, can even register it, in his arms she is.

And they dance.

Palms are connected. Their fingers are laced. Perfectly fitted they are. His right hand he settles on the small of her back. Their cheeks are a mere inching from touching but her chest is pressed to his. Her left hand clutches his arm. The nervousness is radiating off from her. His heartbeats Emily swears she can feel. Baby steps their feet are moving in. And their bodies, just like how it had been when she had once dance in his arms three years ago, are in unison.

The touches, his words, that night, everything comes rushing out without hesitation.

Closer she moves in. Tighter he holds her hand.

"_You look beautiful."_

The heat rises in her cheeks. She feels the handful of people around watching them, wondering what has possessed them. Her eyelids drop shut. Yet Hotch doesn't care because for the first time in a long time, he feels more than good. Unconsciously her head Emily tilts towards his. He feels more than happy. The corners of his thin lips are tugged at.

He feels whole.

"_Nothing has changed…"_

Her bottom lip she bites. He hopes she knows this. The tears build. He hopes she feels it. She can't cry.

Minutes tick away. No one asks them to leave. No one says a word to them. All she feels are their curious eyes watching every tiny movement of their bodies. So in his embrace Emily remains with her head spinning and her heart thumping ever so loudly until it takes all her willpower to pull her head back. She wants to leave. And Hotch is quick because a mere second disappears before his forehead presses hard to her once again in the night. His jaw tenses. He doesn't know what else to say. His mouth he tips forward. But her head she immediately shakes. He doesn't want her to tell him she can't; that she doesn't want this and them. He inhales intensely. The scent of apples and a hint of something spicy he can't pinpoint filter up his nostrils. After everything now, everything they have said to each other, if she tells him that, he thinks his world might just start crumbling.

"Not here."

It's almost breathless. Hotch barely hears her. His arm she abruptly releases. He feels her warm touch on his cheek. Her thumb sweeps back and forth. A faint nudge with the tip of her nose she gives him. His eyes open. He sees the tears. Her pupils still tremble under the low lights. And again Emily tells him.

"_Not here…"_

A moment it takes and he nods. Reluctantly their bodies break apart. Yet not their hands because he is still holding hers with their fingers weaved together. She walks behind him. Their coats they grab. Their drinks they leave behind. Eyes travel along the path they take out of the lounge.

She thinks and he doesn't doubt that they have become the talk among strangers.

The lobby they pass through to the elevators. Want is pumping through his veins. Need is flowing in her blood. Thirty seconds before the doors open and seven seconds alone in the small metal space they spend side by side with their hands still joined until the seventh floor they reach. Once they step out, it is him that trails behind. She's the one with the key. And in front of her door they stand moments later, her hands are nearly shaking searching for the key card in her jacket pockets. Hotch steps up behind her. His chest to her back, his touch he settles on her hip makes the task of sliding the card into the slot a bit more difficult. Emily hears his heavy breathing. The green bulb lights up. The door handle, the door itself she pushes down and back. Inside they step and sealed from the outside world with the soft click of the lock. Their coats are dropped to the floor.

And they can't take it anymore. They can't control it any longer.

The kisses are hard.

Against the door he has trapped her.

The kisses are frantic.

Hands are touching and moving here and there without care.

The kisses are messy.

Her knees grow weaker.

She wants every piece of him. He needs every part of her.

Not standing up, not leaning beside the door. He doesn't want that for them now. Their breathing is labored and heavy. Hotch steps back and Emily steps forward. Three steps they take until the lapels of his suit jacket she finds. With a push from her and two shrugs of his shoulders and arms, on the floor it lands. Over it he steps and he lifts her gently up and along. Those shoes with the blood red soles fall with a soft thud.

"Bed…"

She surprises herself and him with the suddenly uttered word. With five more shift of his feet because he still holds onto her, a foot from the bed they are. Emily wants him to cover her. A bite she makes on his bottom lip before Hotch reluctantly drags his mouth off hers. Their lungs fight for the oxygen. Her face he cups in his large hands. That crisp white shirt she fists. The sudden water behind her closed eyelids forms once again. His head he leans down to hers.

He thinks it'll be easy after all these years, all they have been through to simply just devour her.

"_What_?"

The faint sound of desperation hangs in her question.

"Just…"

Every little detail he wants to trace and burn into his brain all over again. He's going to savor her.

Hotch wants to unravel her.

His words he doesn't finish because his jaw tightens up. He swallows the thick air surrounding them. And in seconds his hand leaves her face. His eyes open. Her lips are swollen. Down her neck, her shoulders, the tips of her dark locks brush against his hand as he locates the tiny zipper. With every centimeter the tiny piece between his fingers descends, Emily feels the small bumps forming all over her body. Her eyelids lift to find his steady stare on her. The clasp of the lace bra he passes and it is not until the zipper reaches the end she remembers.

Her scars.

Emily wants to object. Her hands he takes in his. She needs to tell him to stop. Her fists unclench and his shirt is release. He takes hold of the straps of her dress. Yet her voice, her words are lost. Inch by inch the silky material slides off her shoulder. Her breathing grows heavy. The curve lines are revealed. Her eyes drop. The black lace encasing her ample breast comes into view. Her breathing quickens. That damaged and patched up abdomen of her is exposed. Her head she turns. The dress falls into a delicate puddle at her stocking feet.

At the corner of her eyes the tears cling on. She can't bear to look at him. Her mouth, her lips suddenly grow dry. She doesn't want to see his repulsed reaction. It will be useless to cover herself now. Not since she had been fifteen has she felt this self-conscious. Wordless Hotch is and Emily remains while he carefully turns them around. The edge of the bed hits the back of her knees. Gentle nudges has her lying on the bed as she still refuses to look at him. Powerless she feels. Her eyelid she shuts again.

He will be hovering soon. He will be studying her discolored flesh. He will realize that she is more than damaged goods. He will turn away in disgust. He will not want her.

She can see it. She can feel it.

And suddenly the tears are forming again. Her chest moves rapidly. Emily doesn't believe what is happening. Her heart will jump out. This isn't real.

It's none of the above.

His mouth is what she feels on her skin. He is above her. She hadn't even felt the bed shift from his weight. Along the edge of the lace that covers her on the bottom to her slightly protruding hip bone, Hotch makes the tiny goosebumps rise again. Here and there, up and down, light feathery kisses he begins to sprinkle on her flesh. But what makes her head spin is when his lips find the fist size reminder that she has been carrying.

Little by little, he doesn't miss a centimeter.

Another tear falls and into the comforter beneath her it soaks into.

He wants her.

Whatever she thinks of herself, feels of herself and regardless what has happened to her body since the last time he has seen it, felt it, beautiful he thinks of her.

Always he will.

For a moment Hotch had forgotten. So caught up in their kisses, in wanting and needing her, it had slipped his mind. But then her dress he had slowly unzipped. He had watched as her expression had change. Whether she had realized it or not, her entire being had changed. And once he had been tugging on the straps and she seemed a little scared and a lot paralyzed. Then lower and lower the silky material had slid, more and more she had been revealed to him, he had understood it all.

The scar had marked her skin. The scar had marked her. Forever it will be.

It had been the first time Hotch had been face to face with it.

And he had known exactly what she had been feeling, what she had been wondering.

Ashamed, embarrassed, scared and simply repulsed because that had been exactly how he felt after Foyet.

That night after St. Louis after she had made that first move, her clothes had left a trail from down the halls of his apartment to his room. On his lap Emily had straddled. Naked she had been. Her breathing had just begun to level out. His thick fingers had swept back her bangs that stuck to her forehead. She had grasped the lapels of his suit jacket and pulled herself gently up as the whimper had escaped from her mouth all the while feeling him slowly and carefully slide out of her. Once she had moved inches back, the clothing he still wore had one by one been taken off. So caught in the moment, fully dressed Hotch had been for their first time. A part of him had been amused. Shoes, socks, pants and briefs before the suit jacket, tie and dress shirt had been tugged off. Then her hands had reached the edge of his white cotton undershirt. Her fingers had grazed the flesh of his torso as she started pulling at the last item that separated their skin, their bodies from completely touching.

And he had immediately remembered.

His hands had stopped her movements. His breaths had turned heavy. What she would think of him once she would lay her eyes on them, he hadn't wanted to imagine. Emily had been staring at him with his eyes downcast and his shirt in her hands.

"Um… I don't think…" His voice had been hoarse and low. "I don't think… it'll be a good idea…"

Her brows had slightly furrowed. Then back and forth from their hands to his face her eyes had darted for a minute until it had registered.

His scars.

The day at the hospital Emily had recalled then. Her sight of him had turned the littlest cloudy. The fear, the thought of losing him she had running through her brain and her blood again.

She had leaned forward. Her forehead rested against his. His lips she had caught.

The kiss had been tender.

Grateful she had been that he was okay.

And the scars had simply made her more so.

He had survived. He had been alive.

With her mouth, with her hands Emily had let him know, let him feel that he had nothing to be ashamed of.

_Nothing _could had made her want him, need him any less.

And as his lips pucker one more time on her scar, Hotch hopes she knows it, feels it too.

Always he will want her, need her like no one else.

His hands gently slither up her sides. Emily inhales unsteadily. Farther up he travels. His breath burns her skin and causes the shudder runs through her. The bottom edge of her bra he nips at slightly before higher up he goes. Those harden buds he feels despite the lace barrier. The urge to suck them at the moment he fights. But he can't control the tip of his tongue from sliding out and brushing against them as her back arch the slightest. The fire in the pit of her stomach begins. Yet merely seconds it lasts because suddenly Emily feels everything change. In the back of her mind she thinks, she knows what has done it.

He has discovered those bumpy curved lines above her left breast makes a design. Whatever she had used to cover herself hadn't work completely. Unclear it is, but Hotch sees something. Eyes she still cannot bring herself to open, to look at him. Seconds pass then before a minute and two; she suddenly feels his tender touch. Gently his thumb moves across the flesh she wishes she could just rip off of her body. Bit by bit he is rubbing away whatever it is that she had applied on. And the haze forms in his stare. His breath stops.

The mark he remembers from her past has been etched into her skin comes into full view.

A four leaf clover that is supposed to mean hope, faith, love and luck has meant nothing, given her nothing but nightmares and Ian Doyle.

There hadn't been anything in the medical reports about it. No nurse, no doctor had mentioned this to him. The lump forms in his throat.

_She had never mentioned this to him._

And slowly then, Emily opens her eyes to find him staring intensely at the brand. The tears are forming quickly, but she tries to hold on them. Her lips she moistens and a quaking deep breath she takes.

"Um…" Her voice is shaking. She is trembling. "It was…" His words that night in the cold damp basement cellar of the warehouse she recalls. "His gift… to me…"

Hotch twists his attention up. Their eyes connect. She can't fight the salty beads of water trickling from the corners of her eyes. But in an instant he completely covers her. He has her face in his hands.

"Shhh…" His heart is aching. How much he wishes he can rewind time right now to protect her, to save her. But he can't. All he has at the moment is the present and her. "It's okay… you're okay…"

And he can't be anything more than grateful.

His thumbs wipe the tears away. Cautiously then, he places a tender kiss on her like what she had done for him all those years ago. And the corners of her quivering mouth are tugged at because she remembers the gesture well too. For a while then they are frozen. Her half naked form trapped beneath his body and his warmth as she tries to calm herself back down.

What has she done to deserve this moment and him, she can't figure it out.

But it is her now and it is with him.

She wants to live it.

In his hold, Emily nods tenderly. His eyelids lift up to discover her watching him. Water still lingers on her long lashes. Yet a small curve of her lips graces her face. Once and twice she gives him another faint nod before raising her head inches up. She catches his lips softly.

He is here. Six years of fear and worry have made them. She is here. Three years apart have built this reunion.

All she wants is to remember this, to savor it and feel him setting every fiber in her on fire.

And he does.

With every stroke of one another, every bead of sweat that glistens on their marred bodies and every hard and fast thrust into her, they feel it from the tip of their toes to the points of their fingers before it shoots to their hearts and soars to their brains.

The want is there.

The need is evident.

The passion is strong.

There is no denying it.

_Nothing has changed._

Nearly two hours passes and an hour before the sun rises until they manage to pull apart. The heavy comforter shields their sticky naked bodies from the November cold. The silence is nothing like earlier before. It's comfortable and welcomed just like what they used to experience. Their legs are intertwined in a mess of their own unique design. His arm surrounds her tiny waist as his hand brushes back and forth on her smooth thigh. Her long tresses splay messily beneath her head that rests beside his on the same pillow just three inches apart. Eyes closed Emily feels more relaxed, safer than she has had in years. A hand she has laying on his chest. The beats of his heart she counts as she memorizes the patterns of his breath. It is a beautiful sound she has missed and will miss because the thought of London rises up in the back of her head.

Not yet. She doesn't want to bring it up just yet. She doesn't want to think about the flight that will be taking off in six hours. She wants to enjoy this and him a little longer.

Slowly she opens her eyes. The sight of his handsome profile staring up at the cream colored ceiling is a touch blurry, but she still sees it. His brows and his forehead are furrowed. He is clenching his teeth. His jaw is tight. There is the slightest flare to his nostrils. She can still recognize it after so long.

"That's your tell…"

Her quiet statement shatters the silence in the room. His head turns. Hotch finds the glassiness of her dark eyes studying him. The touch on her thigh stops. A faint coil of her slightly swollen lips Emily offers. Her hand rises. She runs it through the side of his hair. Then from his forehead to the bridge of his nose and across his thin lips her fingers travel. His expression bit by bit changes, softens.

"Yeah?"

She nods. Her head she scoots closer to his.

"Yeah…"

A soft kiss she places on his mouth. Under her touch the thumps of his heart quickens.

"What's wrong?

Hotch hears the concern. Slowly the hand that still rests on his chest he covers. He brings her naked body even closer. And the faint smile on her face he tries to match.

"That morning… when you told me about the job offer in London…" His breath tickles her skin. He swallows the lump in his throat. "I wanted to ask you to stay…"

It had been the silence. It had been the enjoying, the recalling and the memorizing of how it had been, how it is with her in his arms. But then Hotch had remembered. Onto a plane she will be stepping in and to London she will return. He wants her to stay. Yet he can't. And he had been transported back to that morning, their date. It was still fresh in his memories. Telling him about the job Clyde Easter offered her, how bad he had wanted her, needed her to stay.

Her own heart Emily feels begins to beat as fast as his. "But you didn't…" she murmurs.

And a part of him thinks it had been a mistake. How things could've been different he has wonders. But the other part of him knows better. Whatever he had wanted from her, from them, whatever that had been going on with Beth, it had been about her.

He had put her first and always he will without doubts and regrets.

"I couldn't…" Hotch shakes his head. "I couldn't ask… make you stay…"

The vision of him turns blurrier at the sudden realization of what he truly means. Regardless of what had been happening between them, he had let her go to find herself.

That had been what she had needed.

A soft nod Emily gives him. Her lips she puckers. Lightly she presses them to his mouth once more before whispering, "Thank you…"

The question will hang a little longer between them as the hush they fall into again. Hotch sighs. The back and forth touch on her thigh begins again. She shifts and buries her face into the crook of his neck. His skin is warm and no longer sticky. The tears rise. He smells of his unique scent and the hint of them together.

"I still get them… every once and a while…" A deep breath she takes before exhaling heavily. "I still get those bad days…" she confesses quietly. "And all I would think about…" She can't help the sad, almost pathetic chuckle from escaping her.

No one understands her like he does. A part of her thinks no one ever will.

"All I ever wanted was to talk you…"

His hold of her tightens. She has answered questions that have been lingering in his head. Her head she twists back up. Gazes are locked.

"What's going to happen?"

Emily can't hold it. The question of their future, her tears he wipes the corner of her eyes once more. Yet Hotch smiles through his own tears he holds back. He can ask her to stay. Just like how he had wanted to before she had left for London, just like how he had thought about it when Thanksgiving had been brought up. But he knows even if he does, he will be worried about her wondering if she is ready. What she wants and needs will remain his priority between them.

It will never change.

So Hotch isn't sure himself either.

Except for one thing though.

One thing he thinks she needs to know. One thing he wants her to know regardless what has happen, what will happen. One thing has been on his mind and weighing down on his heart for far too long.

"_I love you."_

Suddenly everything has changed.

Those three little words come out low, soft and intense. He means it. Emily thinks her entire world has stopped. Her heart lodges in her throat. Never had she ever imagined him saying that to her. Never had she ever thought possible that they would even reach this far. Hotch presses their foreheads together. Their stare never breaks.

"I don't know what's going to happen… but whatever does… _just know that_…"

And until the sun rises beyond the buildings and monuments and hours after, he shows it.

What he said to her, what he feels for her can't ever waver and will never disappear.

Emily feels it.

All his touches, all his kisses, all his words, burn into her skin, her brain and her heart.

Even as she dresses.

The scent of apples and cinnamon he learns surrounds them and lingers on their skin. A shower they had shared together where he had watched how the combination of steam and his thrusts would turn her ivory flesh to the lightest shade of pink as she admired every freckle, every ridge of him under the waterfall. But that was thirty minutes ago because now at the edge of the bed they had made disheveled Hotch sits on with his lower half of his body dress. Her lone suitcase stands by the door. He stares wordlessly as those long legs that had hugged his hips and curled around his neck slide into the dark denim.

In less than two hours she will get on the plane.

She hadn't needed to say it. He had felt it. And he doesn't fault her. Nothing has changed, will change about the way he feels.

He just thinks he will miss her a little more. He already has started.

His head bows as Emily lifts hers from the small silver button she has pushed through the hole.

She can't stay.

Regardless of last night, of early this morning, even after all the years apart, and all their words whispered, a chapter of her life she has begun in London. The guilt fills in. The ache soars through. It's a chapter she thinks needs to be written before she can come back, before she can be with him.

The snow white cashmere sweater she tugs back down and with a lick of her lips, her feet moves across the carpet. The bed shifts a little under her weight. Hotch raises his head. Glassy eyes meet.

"Hey."

"Hey."

Without hesitation Emily covers his hands before him. Her mouth opens, but he speaks first.

"It's okay…" he whispers reassuringly. A small smile he gives her way. "We'll talk…" He doesn't want her feeling guilty. "If you have a bad day or if you just want to talk… every day we will talk?" And that's promise Hotch will keep because the past three years he doesn't want to repeat.

Her bottom lip quivers, but instantly she bites it as her hand he lifts and brings to his mouth. A light press he places on the back. She nods softly and he does too.

"Do you want to get something to eat before you go?"

It doesn't take her a second for her head to move left to right. She doesn't think she can even stomach anything now.

Another kiss placed on her hand, Hotch stands. This time it's her turn to watch. Yet it is only for a minute because after the white cotton shirt is back over his body and the dress shirt he slides his arms in, off the bed she is. She walks to him and surprise he is when the button between his fingers is gently taken from him. Never looking up while he stares at her intensely, sees the water edging at her eyes Emily pushes seven tiny little buttons into place. The top one, the eighth one she leaves undone. And when she's finished; her hand smoothes out the wrinkles of the across his chest and the faintest chuckle comes from her.

"I think…" Her hand stops above his heart. She sniffles. "I think the bartender thought I was a call girl or something…" She looks up then and the chuckle turns to a little laugh when she sees the crooked smile across his face. Almost immediately he follows along. And for a moment their melodious laughter fills her room until it gradually dies. Her head cocks a few degrees to the right. Her eyes grow a bit more blurry.

"Thanks… for the dance… I forgot to tell you…"

With a small bob of his head, the sad smile forms on his face.

"_Always."_

A minute more they remain like this before her head grudgingly turns. Emily picks up his navy striped colored tie that lies on the dresser as he puts on his suit jacket once more. Without a word she hands him silk item that he decides to forgo. Neatly Hotch folds it up and places it in his jacket pocket. Her boots she slips back on before her coat he holds out for her to slide her arms through. With a small twist of her lips, she does so. His coat he wears again. Her lips she licks as a scan around the room she takes. Her best she tries to ignore the messy bed that their scent still covers all over to make certain that nothing has been dropped, has been left behind. From the corner of his eyes he feels her nod. Wordlessly Hotch makes his way to the door. The tears in her eyes Emily quickly erases with the sleeve of her coat. Her suitcase he picks up as her bag she swings over her shoulder. The door he opens.

"You ready?" he asks quietly.

Silence is what she gives him as she moves to him. His hand Emily finds even without looking.

Palms are connected. Fingers are intertwined.

Out the door they are. Through the hallways they walk side by side. Two minutes it is until the metal doors open. Into the elevator they step into. Her head tips towards his shoulder unconsciously. A kiss bestowed to the top of her hair Hotch sets. She grips onto his hand tighter. Their ride comes to a stop. The lobby has turned busier and louder since the very early morning they passed through it. Their hands they continue to hold until two dozen steps from the front desk they are. She lets go of him and checks out. But as soon as she finishes, his hand wastes no moment to take hers back as they exit.

The autumn chill hits them almost instantly. It's a clear and sunny morning. A slow breath of the fresh air into her lungs, Emily exhales slowly. Still, just like last night, everything in her head is jumbled up. It is filled with nothing but him regardless as they walk down the same block together to his car. The door he opens and closes for her. Her suitcase he places in the trunk. Three minutes passes before the wheels are turning.

The forty minutes in the car is nothing but stillness.

His hands grip onto the steering wheel.

The signs on highway he reads. The road ahead he focuses on. Yet all Hotch can think about is her sitting beside him and knowing perhaps what is going through her head. What will become of them, what future will they eventually have; in the back of his mind those questions are whispered as well. But what seems to be louder, what seems to tell him, scream at him is that time doesn't matter. He can wait. He wants to wait.

Her eyes stare out into the passing scenery.

If Emily is honest right then and there, a part of her had thought that maybe what had been occurring between them the last three years would've continued when they saw each other. Then she would have gotten back on the plane perhaps just a little hurt because strangers they had remained and become. Yet nothing had been what she had expected. The ache in her, the pain she seems to be causing him is magnified, has been intensified. And she wonders if regardless of what he has told her, phone calls they promised would they have some sort of a future.

When the airport finally comes into view, she slowly sits up in her seat. Her heartbeat speeds up just a bit faster. His knuckles turn a little whiter. The sign that welcomes travelers overhead they see.

"Gate C."

Her destination Emily murmurs just as they pass it.

Five minutes to reach there and another six looking a space to park, a sigh Hotch lets out when the engine is turned off. They sit without a word, wondering who will make the first movement. In a moment it is her because the blur in her eyes rises. The seatbelt Emily unbuckles and the door she opens. Once it closes, he follows. Her suitcase he carries again even when she protests softly. Simply he offers her a faint smile despite the glaze of her pupils he doesn't comment on. Their hands find each other again. Wordlessly they make the journey to the entry of the airport.

Three steps into the bright vast space filled with travelers for work, for the holidays, for vacation, he sees the long lines here and there and knows what that just means. Earlier she will have to go to make her flight. And Hotch thinks she is reading his mind because half minute later he feels her eyes up at him.

"I should go check in first…"

In line they wait together until it is her turn. Quiet he is beside her as her passport is checked and her ticket is scanned. Her voice is soft as she thanks the gate agent and retrieves her belongings. Neither of them says anything as their feet begin to wander through the space to nowhere in particular. Just a little longer he'll like to have her next to him with their hands fitted perfectly together until the next time while she'll like just a little longer before their goodbyes will be said. So for a while, it's holding tightly to one another. It's allowing the bustling of the people around them to replace the hush between them. It's paying no attention to the many screens that hang above listing all the flight numbers and departure time.

Flight 9225 to London, it's the only one at noon today.

Regardless though, the computerized voice blares through the speakers.

"_Flight 9225 to London is now boarding."_

Her eyes turn watery. His throat constricts. And then Emily nibbles on the inside of her cheeks because the circles they have made around the airport have them stopping and standing feet away from the security checkpoint. She doesn't look at him. She doesn't turn to the right to see the people lined up. Maybe just a little longer of walking around and holding onto him. One then two footsteps forward she can only make because Hotch doesn't move. In his place he stays. The grip of their hands tightens. So in the middle of the airport as people pass them, they are frozen.

She doesn't want to turn around. The tears are rising a bit faster. A part of her is afraid to face him.

But then she has no choice because little by little the distance vanishes. Her back is to his chest. His head tips. Her eyes close. The deep inhale from him makes her body shudder and his heart drops into his stomach.

The voice above them from the speakers they hear again.

Her hand Hotch tugs on. He wants her to look at him. He presses his mouth to the back of her head. The unexpected whimper comes out. In second Emily turns. Her suitcase he drops onto the ground.

And in his arms she falls into.

He swallows the thick air around them. "You should go…" His words he manages to keep steady despite the tremble of everything inside of him. "The line… you should get in it soon…"

His hand ascends. Her cheek he cups to pull her head back. Slowly Emily opens her eyes. His face is a blur. Yet a smile she sees clearly. A tear rolls down to the tip of his thumb.

"_I love you, too."_

A cry escapes without abandonment. Her head she swiftly turns. One, two, three puckers of her quaking lips she sets into the center of his palm. Salty beads of water trickle down. His forehead he leans against her temple as his eyes shut momentarily. His jaw tenses. His nostrils flare the slightest.

The war inside of him he needs to calm.

And sixty seconds ticks away until Hotch lifts his head and she follows. Their cloudy gazes meet.

"_I just wanted you to know that…"_

She will be the end of him.

Smile still intact, his fingertips swipes tenderly across her rosy cheeks. Her bottom lip she moistens. A slow breath she lets out regardless if her heart will break through her ribs and pound out of her chest.

"I'll call you… when I land…"

Slowly Hotch nods.

"And any time after…" he quietly finishes.

A response Emily doesn't give. On her toes she goes and his lips she catches.

Nothing like the first kiss they shared after so long in the earlier morning.

Soft, sweet and sad this one is.

Into his brain it burns and onto her heart it stamps.

Once they finally pull away her suitcase Hotch picks up. Her hand seizes his and he wraps his thick fingers around her slender ones without delay. The short distance to the end of the line they walk to. The suitcase he gives back to her.

He will not say goodbye. He refuses to.

"Be careful, okay?"

His words squeeze her heart. A handful of travelers pass them by and onto the line they get on. In the back of her mind Emily thinks she knows what he's doing.

He will not tell her goodbye.

And either will her.

So up and down she moves her head before responding shakily.

"You too…"

Then for a minute longer their stares and their hands hold before her eyes drop and his hand she lets go.

Seven steps back Hotch takes. Seven steps forward Emily takes.

His hands shove into his coat pocket. The people fill the line from behind, but in his sight she remains. One by one they are all checked. And when it is finally her turn, the routine procedures of scans he watches. Closer and closer she is to getting on the plane. Then before he realizes, her boots and coat she puts back on. Her suitcase and bag she takes back.

No more than half a dozen spaces forward though Emily turns around.

A mere three seconds it takes to find each other in the crowd.

Her heart is cracking. His chest is tightening.

But once the ends of his thin lips are sadly tugged up and she returns a small watery smile his way too; her back faces him again.

Through the sea of people she disappears into.

Hotch clears his throat. His head bows momentarily to clear the haze of his pupils before he looks up once more. He scans the area. An empty chair near the entrance he finds. The sigh escapes when he sits while he runs his hand across his tired face. His elbows rest against his knees. His gaze rises to the digital clock on the wall opposite of him. Twenty three minutes until noon. His eyes shift to the right. On the large screen he locates her flight.

Back and forth he stares at them.

And as the minutes gradually tick away and her flight number blinks, Hotch knows. She will not be running through those gates. She will not be pushing pass security. The life she is living in London, she needs to finish without the regrets. He doesn't want that for her. She needs to finish without wondering about what ifs. He doesn't want that for them.

The voice blares from the speakers and it is last calls for the flight to London.

Perhaps a little damaged and a lot complicated describes them. Nothing about them is like a fairytale, like a movie. It will never be.

They are simply them.

And what else he knows; more than certain about is that when it comes down to the end, when it ultimately comes down to her, no one else compares. No one even comes close.

Noon the clock strikes.

Hotch counts the seconds and no more than thirty; the flight to London disappears from the screen. His thin lips he moistens. His throat has dried as he gulps the thick air. Slowly he stands. Down the path of the security checkpoint and as far as his eyes can see he stares for a minute.

She is what he wants. She is what he needs.

_Always._

His feet turn. One step then another and another he begins to take.

He will wait.

An ending they will find and have fit just them.

Out the doors he walks.

He is sure of it.


End file.
